


For the future, for you.

by Werepirechick



Series: We made the choice. [1]
Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (TV 2012), Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - All Media Types
Genre: :(, Background Relationships, Bittersweet Ending, But not in a good way, Character Death Fix, Complicated Relationships, Difficult Decisions, Doomed Timelines, Dysfunctional Family, Explosions, Future Character Death, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Growing Up, Implied Relationships, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Justified Killing, Prompt Fic, Regret, Self-Sacrifice, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It, War, donnie boy why do you do these things, donnie is fixing this timeline himself, nothing like traumatizing your younger self lmao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-10
Updated: 2018-05-02
Packaged: 2018-12-13 11:25:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 32,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11758839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Werepirechick/pseuds/Werepirechick
Summary: For an anon on tumblr:... how about season one Donnie meeting season 5 Donnie. While season 5 Donnie knows that messing with the timelines is a terrible idea. He's just lost so much. His brothers have drifted so far apart. His father's dead. So, hes left with the choice of ruining his timeline for a possible better one. (You can choose what he does and the consequences if your want to do this drabble)Donatello appears in Donnie’s lab with a burst of light; the air pressure popping in his ear canals and the smell of something singed filling his nose.Donnie stares, unable to articulate what’s just happened. His other self stares back, panting and looking like he’s just been through hell.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this has been sitting in my documents for a long while, so i figured i'd just post the first half and get it started.
> 
> enjoy your pain, folks. god knows i had a lot when the anon delivered this into my inbox.

Donatello appears in Donnie’s lab with a burst of light; the air pressure popping in his ear canals and the smell of something singed filling his nose.

Donnie stares, unable to articulate what’s just happened. His other self stares back, panting and looking like he’s just been through hell.

A long silver cloak obscures most of his body, only his head uncovered. Donnie’s mirror self holds a demented looking staff in his hands, the rod leading up to a giant red hand clutching an hour glass.

“-what’s the date?” His other self gasps out.

Donnie looks closer, and distantly realizes that no, this turtle isn’t his mirror self. The other Donatello is taller, has lines to his face Donnie knows he doesn’t have. He’s carrying an air of someone on the edge, and looking ready to shove anyone near him over it.

 _“What’s the date?”_ His other self demands sharply.

Donnie startles, and blurts out the information requested on reflex. The other Donatello sags against his bizarre staff, and looks so relieved it probably hurts.

“Oh good,” He says, smiling in a broken way. “I was worried I’d overshoot or something.”

And then he nearly falls onto the floor, and Donnie rushes to catch him.

 

\--/--

 

It takes only a few moments for the other him to catch his breath. In those moments, Donnie sees what he can only assume is a collection of hot-sharp desperate emotions be shoved under the surface. It looks painful; to cover up so much all in one go.

 _“Who are you?”_ is what he asks soon as he’s able. Except with a lot more confusion and swearing involved.

 _“I’m you,”_ is the weary and partially humorous answer. The other Donatello smiles as he says that, drawing at stress lines that make him look older by decades. “Well, I’m you, except nearly five years older and a hell of a lot more traumatized. Ha.”

Donnie thinks he looks too old to be just twenty.

The explanation is curt, to the point. Donatello- as Donnie is calling him, because two Donnie’s is just confusing even inside his head- explains who he is, where he’s come from, and how he’s gotten into Donnie’s lab in the early hours of the night.

“The time sceptre,” Donatello says, holding up the creepy staff as he does. “I stole it from someone we used to think of as a friend. The cloak, too.” He smiles, but it’s a bitter expression. A lot of things about Donatello seem bitter. “It’ll hide my presence from the time mistresses, long enough I can get everything I need to done.”

“Uh,” Donnie says. “that explains so very little of what the hell is going on. Time mistresses?”

“They’re from the seventy-ninth dimension,” Donatello says, which doesn’t clarify anything but _does_ confirm the multiverse theory. Hooray? “There’s a whole collection of them, a society, even, and while we used to be friends with an apprentice of theirs, I sort of. Well. Burned that bridge to the ground when I broke into their headquarters and stole one, the most powerful time scepter they have, and two, one of their stealth cloaks. So long as I wear it, they can’t track my movements through time. Just the ripples I leave in it.”

Donnie puts his fingers to his temples, trying to catch everything all at once and make sense of it. “Okay, time travel and alternate dimensions are confirmed scientifically possible, great. Why are you doing all this?”

Donatello’s expression hardens and goes cold. “To prevent the future I came from.”

Oh god. It’s worse than Donnie imagined. This is every horrible sci-fi thriller ever and he’s _living it_.

“…and what sort of future is that?” He’s so afraid to ask.

Donatello remains cold, but takes on a bone deep exhaustion. “Well… for starters, our father died.”

Donnie was right to be afraid, and his heart goes colder than Donatello’s expression.

“No,” He whispers, air knocked out of him. “No, that’s impossible.”

“He’s just as mortal as any of us, I’m afraid,” Donatello says. His hands tighten around the scepter. “Shredder kills him three years down the road from here, but not before a lot of really, really bad stuff happens because of him. Because of both of them. I’m here to stop it.”

Donnie’s head is spinning. His father dies.   _Died._ It’s not even something he can properly imagine; the rat that’s always been untouchable in a fight, even with all four of him and his siblings ganging up on him. He died and Donnie sent himself back in time to prevent that. But-

“How?” Donnie asks, even though a part of him is already arriving at multiple answers, including-

“Simple,” Donatello says. “I’ll kill Shredder before he can kill anyone else.”

He takes out a folded piece of paper; crumpled blueprint set on the table next to them and smoothed out. Donnie only has to glance at it to know what’s drawn on its surface.

“And, you’re going to help me.”

 

\--/--

 

Donnie already has all the materials needed, scattered throughout his lab and in the garage. He’s horrified, and confused, and yet not.

He always knew he had the potential to build scarier things, deadlier things. He just didn’t, because it seemed so… terrible. Even in the face of everything he’s been through the last few months, it wasn’t ever a line he wanted to cross.

Now, he has motivation. Both in the tried and true one of wanting to protect his family, and in the intimidating figure his older self presents.

Between the two of them, they have everything nearly set up already, despite only beginning a few hours ago. Donnie is hesitant now and again, but Donatello works with machinelike pace and precision. There are no mistakes or pauses as he works across the table from Donnie; only focus and unrelenting concentration.

Donnie darts glances at his other self, examining the differences between them more closely.

Donatello had laid out his reasoning and motivations to destroy his own future. Most of it had been to do with what effect their father’s death had had on their family, but also… what had happened between them all afterwards, and even before that.

Maybe Raph was always a little more physical and short-fused than needed. Maybe Leo got on their cases a lot and sometimes was a little harsher than he should be. Maybe Splinter had always been a little bit standoffish towards Donnie and Mikey’s interests and skillsets. That didn’t mean they were abusive, right?

A lot can change in half a decade, it seemed.

The accusations Donatello had told Donnie sat heavy in his chest; painful to think on and slimy feeling to imagine.

Donatello had looked so tired when he told Donnie those things. Exhausted and regretful. _It’s not entirely their fault,_ he’d said, _we all got dealt bad hands and they dealt with it worse than any of us. I can still save them from that. We both can._

Save Leo, Raph, and Splinter from themselves and the people they could become. Save Mikey from becoming detached and brittle smiling, made sharp and weary by war and devolving home life. Save April from becoming someone who burned too bright and carried too much anger and pain to handle. Save Casey.

“Who’s that?” Donnie had asked.

Donatello had paused for a moment, and then smiled in a wry manner.

“Someone who helped me get back here,” He’d said. Then, with warmth, “and some idiot you’ll learn to trust with your life.”

Then he’d paused, and sagged a little around his shoulders. Tired, grieving.

“He didn’t make it through the portal with me.”

Donatello went quiet after that.

Donnie still sees those things in Donatello’s posture, even as they work quickly to assemble what they need. There are scars and lines to Donatello’s body and face that add to the exhausted air; making him look so much older than twenty.

Donnie is quietly scared of those things. The age and the wear and the blank resignation, of what Donatello’s told him, and of the explosives they have piled all around them.

He wants to go find his brothers. His father. He wants to grab them all and look them in the eye, and _beg_ them to chase away any doubts he has about them, or their family, or their love. He wants to be a kid who can run to his family and have them explain away everything that’s horrible in the world. He wants them all to promise they wouldn’t ever become those people, and that he wouldn’t become Donatello.

But, Donatello is short of time. He’d said that even with the cloak he still wears, eventually the time mistresses he stole from will find him. The sceptre is too powerful to hide for long, and…

Donnie agrees, despite how everything is spiraling out of his control and feeling exactly like a black hole. He agrees that for their family…

Well, he’s willing to do anything for them. Anything to keep them whole, healthy, and happy. Even kill for them.

 

\--/--

 

Donnie’s pulse races as they scale the building; terrified that someone will somehow see them, despite all the precautions they’ve taken, and terrified because he has _bombs_ on his shell.

He’s designed plans for bombs over the years. Thought about chemicals and devices that could create the biggest _boom._ He’s never actually considered bringing those thoughts into reality. Too dangerous, too extreme.

His other self still doesn’t seem to have any reluctance for those sorts of things; carrying his half of the bombs without hesitance as they climb.

Donnie pulls out the first bomb he’s supposed to place, as he reaches a nook of the church’s outside. The thing isn’t much bigger than his hand, but it _weighs._

It feels like a precipice he’s about to topple from.

Donnie bites his lip, and reminds himself this is for the sake of his family. Even if it feels… wrong.

He places the bomb, locking it to the stone and activating it. The little green light comes to life, and Donnie has to swallow bile as he has to keep going.

How has no one caught them yet? How have they totally escaped the notice of one of the most powerful crime lords in the world? Donnie’s hindbrain insists that their luck can’t hold, that even though his other self said he knew the patrol patterns perfectly, they’re going to be caught and then _everyone_ will die-

A shape falls past Donnie and his heart jumps out of his chest.

He whips his head to follow the shape, ready to detach his hand from the metal grips around his palms and grab the first kunai he can-

-and he sees the black clad form of a guardsmen, metal mesh eyes staring upwards, just before he hits the ground with a cracking _thud._

Donnie stares, uncomprehendingly, at the corpse below him.

It’s in the shadows of the alley, and looks just like the rest of the trash bags scattered along the ground. It looks like just another lump in the dark. Something no one would ever glance twice at.

He feels like throwing up.

Donnie slowly looks upwards, breath difficult to find.

His other self meets his eyes, blank and undisturbed. And then turns away as he disappears onto the roof.

Donatello had said they wouldn’t meet any guards. That they’d get all the bombs in place without even having to worry about them. All of Donnie’s observations of the church had said that was impossible, but he’d accepted the insistences anyways. Because he didn’t want to think of the truth.

Donatello lied to him. It somehow doesn’t feel like a surprise.

An aged mirror of his face reappears above him.

 _"Hurry up,”_ Donatello whispers over the ledge of the church. _“I don’t have much time left.”_

So he keeps saying, at least.

Donnie feels the weight of the bombs on his shell, slung carefully inside a large duffle bag like they are. The sound of the thud plays over and over in his head.

He reminds himself that this is for his family, their future, and that everyone inside this building is going to be dead very soon anyways. What’s one death sooner than that?

Donnie feels detached from himself as he keeps climbing. He vaguely wonders if he’ll ever sleep again, after tonight.

 

\--/--

 

“Are you sure?” Donnie asks one last time, staring at the building they’ve wired to blow.

“I spent half a year examining every single day of our lives, dating from April’s appearance to- to our father’s death,” His other self says, bent double over the thicker, sturdier laptop from the Shellraiser. He’s letting Donnie look at it, but clearly needs no assistance as he hacks the cameras inside the church a second time. “I’ve crunched numbers and possibilities and alternate options into oblivion, trust me,” Donatello looks stone-faced determined, so much so it’s making Donnie uncomfortable. “There is no other way. I’m sorry.”

He’s been saying that all night. Donnie’s starting to feel like it means more than just _‘sorry’._

Donatello’s typing slows, and he stops completely. Staring at the screen with intensity.

Donnie sees what he’s staring at, and swallows.

The Shredder.

Sat on his throne, discussing something the video feed won’t pick up. Foot soldiers stationed along the walls of the room, no sign of his second in commands or of Karai. Donatello said she was out at the moment, that she wouldn’t make it back in time.

Donnie, feeling dizzy, wonders why they weren’t killing her as well.

He turns his eyes back to the tips of the church. Two blocks away, they have a perfect view of the top roof of the building. All the sharp towers, the piercing arches aimed at the sky.

Donnie is about to watch it all be destroyed, and have the knowledge he helped orchestrate it.

He can’t feel his legs. Reality feels like it’s sliding.

For his family. It was all for his family. He needed to remember that.

“Text Leo,” Donatello says, clipped and low. Donnie doesn’t look at him. “Tell him to tell Karai… she should get back to her base soon, or she’ll miss the show.”

Donnie stutters internally. _“What?_ Why would- he’s with her? _Right now?”_

“Yes,” Donatello says; no hint of a lie. “Where did you think he disappeared all the time?”

Donnie reels, implications about his brother getting friendly with one of the deadliest threats in their lives making his head spin. “Oh my god- he’s been- and he didn’t _tell us?”_

Donatello scoffs, the sound almost a bitter laugh. “This isn’t even the worst stupid stunt he pulls. Just text him, they’ll get here soon enough.”

 _“Why?_ Why do we even want her to see this?” It seems… overkill, making her watch her own father die, as terrible as the both of them are.

“She doesn’t need to see it,” Donatello says. “I just need to tell her something before we go. Better she comes now than me having to hunt for her later. It’ll save time.”

Donnie doesn’t want to know. He does not want to know what his other self wants to tell Karai; not with the dull, bitter tone to his words.

He texts Leo anyways. He puts away his phone before he starts getting replies back.

“Ready?” Donatello asks, holding a finger over the key that will activate the countdown sequence.

Donnie wants to scream _no._

“Yes,” He says, and it comes out strangled. “As I’ll ever be.”

Donatello nods, and turns back to the screen perched on his crossed legs. He presses the key, starting the thirty second countdown.

Donnie tears his eyes from the changing numbers, to glance at Donatello’s expression.

He doesn’t look like he’s feeling anything at all.

“I’m sorry,” Donatello says suddenly, the flashing screen lighting his face strangely. “You shouldn’t have had to see this. Do any of this.”

Twenty-five seconds.

“Then why are you making me?” Donnie asks, because he has to. “You could’ve done this on your own. I know you could have.”

Twenty seconds.

“Because,” Donatello says. He doesn’t take his eyes off the figure of Shredder or the countdown. “you have to learn, whether you or I want you to.”

Fifteen seconds.

“Learn what?”

“How to do what needs doing, so we don’t lose anyone ever again.”

Ten seconds.

Donnie can’t find anything to say to that.

Donatello doesn’t look at him. Only staring at the Shredder, with cold hate slowly creeping into his expression.

Five seconds.

Donnie looks away, but he counts the seconds anyways.

Four.

Three.

Two.

Donnie shuts his eyes.

The explosion goes off, shuddering through the air.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one scene ended up taking a whole chapter. hm.

They hit all the main supports outside the building, lined bombs on the gas lines they could reach. The result is explosive fire immediately and crumbling stone shortly after.

Donnie hears the building start falling apart, and opens his eyes to see its spires caving on themselves. The tips of the building are gone in seconds, but Donnie feels those seconds last an eternity.

Dust and red rise up in their place; smoke ascending from the wreckage of the church. The sound of alarms begins all around in the neighborhood, coming from any security system triggered by the blast.

Donnie stares at the distant destruction, and knows there isn’t any possible way anyone survived that explosion. The Shredder is dead.

The Shredder is dead.

His war is over his family is safe and the Shredder is _dead._

And he helped kill him.

He helped kill every person- people who had families and lives and loved ones- he killed everyone who was inside that building. They’re all dead. They’re dead because of him.

A hand lays itself on Donnie’s shell. He hadn’t noticed he was swaying until he was steadied.

“The first time the hardest. I’m sorry. Just breathe through it and process later. We have company arriving soon.”

Donnie’s lungs won’t cooperate, but he breathes harsh and deep anyways. It only alleviates a bit of the dizziness in his head.

He stares at the cloud that’s steadily taking over the sky, thick and black. The red reflecting off it makes the whole scene all the more unsettling. Donnie hears what are probably police and firetruck sirens drawing closer and closer to their location.

He tries to find words, but horror keeps him mute.

He killed the Shredder. He built bombs and blew up the church. He crossed the line.

He killed the Shredder.

Footsteps thud on the roof behind him.

 _“YOU!”_ is shrieked out, fury and pain combined, with the promise of retribution. All conveyed with a single word.

Donnie knows Karai is behind him, likely along with his brother. It sends the usual shiver of fear up his spine, having Karai so close by, but it’s dulled by the knowledge that her power has been greatly reduced.

After all, her terrifying crime lord father is dead. Even if that doesn’t guarantee a hundred percent Donnie will survive this encounter.

“Karai,” Donatello says evenly.

“…Donnie?” Leo asks, voice whisper faint.

Donnie turns around, even with trepidation making itself home in his chest.

His big brother is staring at him with open horror and confusion, standing next to one of their greatest enemies. Karai’s expression is caught in a snarl, but Donnie sees hollowness to her eyes.

They killed her father, like he killed Donnie’s. But.

Not in this lifetime. Not this time around. Because they stopped it. They saved Splinter and saved everyone else. No one except the people in that building will die now, because Donnie and Donatello fixed the future.

But does that make it right? To save his family, was it right for him to kill someone else’s?

Is there any correct answer to who was in the right?

Too late now.

Leo breaks the tense stalemate of silence.

“Donnie- what’s going on?” He asks, eyes darting between Donnie and Donatello. “Who is that?”

Donnie’s throat is tight and dry, and he can’t answer. Donatello does for him.

“I’m him, five years from now. I came back in time to destroy my future, and to do so I had to kill the Shredder,” Donatello levels a look at Karai, steely and calm. “Karai. I have something to tell you before we go.”

Karai’s eyes snap away from the smoke clouds, and her fury rises again. “I- I’ll _kill you!_ You killed my father- _I’ll kill you!”_

Donatello sighs. “Yeah, about that-”

Karai cuts him off with a throat scratching yell, and flashes across the roof almost faster than Donnie can see. Her sword is whipped out so quick it whistles, and suddenly she’s right in front of Donatello with the drawn blade- clearly intent to decapitate him.

Donatello’s cloak flashes silver as he moves, billowing with his nimble dodge as he avoids Karai’s slashing strikes. Karai spits a number of curses at him- a mixture of Japanese and English, mostly promising to tear Donatello limb from limb and do unspeakable things with those limbs afterwards. Donnie’s draws his bo, trying to find a way to break into the one-sided fight, while Leo is shouting something at all of them as the chaos ramps up.

Donnie hasn’t seen Donatello carrying a weapon at all over the course of the night, and yet. Just as Karai’s sword swings upwards, aimed for Donatello’s jugular-

-a silver staff snaps out of nowhere, extending to block the blow and divert it completely.

Donatello moves with more grace and power than Donnie has ever managed. He _knows_ he can’t fight like that. Karai has always bested all of them, each time they’ve clashed over the past months, and yet Donatello is meeting her blow for blow with clear ease.

Donatello is starting to do more than that. He’s starting to win.

The silver staff Donatello is using crackles suddenly, the tip lighting up, and Karai’s sword meets it with a burst of electricity. Karai cries out, and drops her weapon.

Donatello doesn’t stop, advancing on the kunoichi without mercy. In one swift movement, Karai’s feet are knocked out from under her and she lands heavy on her side. Donatello’s staff whips through the air faster than Donnie’s eyes can track, and it comes down directly towards Karai’s skull.

Leo shouts, _“NO-!”_ too late, and Donnie feels the same word bubbling up in his throat. They’ve already killed so many people, and Karai isn’t much older than them, he doesn’t want even _more_ blood on his hands-

Donatello’s attack stops midair, the metal tip of his staff hovering right in front of Karai’s wide eyes. There’s a long, tense moment, and then Donatello speaks.

“Your name,” He says, voice low and serious. “is Hamato Miwa. Your father is Hamato Yoshi. You were wrongly stolen by a man named Oroku Saki and raised by the person who murdered your mother. The Shredder was a murderer and a liar. He was never your father.”

What.

Everyone, even Karai, freezes in place. Donatello’s expression, despite the absurdity of what he’s just said, shows no sign of it being a poorly timed joke.

_What._

Donatello takes his staff away from Karai’s face, and Karai watches him with wary eyes as he does. Donatello doesn’t stop talking, even as he steps away from the fallen kunoichi.

“Shredder, as you know, thought he’d killed Yoshi- but he didn’t. Yoshi escaped and came to New York, where he was caught in an accident with the Kraang. Aliens. He turned into a giant rat, his new pet turtles got mixed with his human DNA, etcetera. Hamato Yoshi took the name Splinter once he was mutated, and he raised the four turtles to become myself and my brothers,” Donatello pauses, looking thoughtful. “Well, not me specifically. I’m from a timeline where Shredder eventually succeeded in killing Splinter and basically finished the job of ruining my life.

“Anyways. Shredder was an enormous piece of shit liar who ruined just about everything you, my family, and I have ever known, and eventually you’ll thank me for killing him. I came back in time to destroy my future, and myself and your future self agreed it would be best if I told you the truth before you decided to massacre my family as revenge. Which I know you would have, because you told me so. Essentially, this is me doing you a favor. I personally won’t be around to answer your questions later, but I advise you reach out to Splinter whenever you get your head around things.”

Donatello twitches his grip around his staff, and the long metal pole collapses on itself to become only a foot long. He tucks it away under his cloak, and gives all the other rooftop occupants an expectant expression.

No one speaks, not even Karai. They’re all still stuck staring at Donatello.

Donnie feels like his entire world’s just been flipped upside down. Again. Possibly for the fifth time that night.

“Oh,” Donatello says, like an afterthought. “And we’re half-siblings. Because we share the same father.”

Leo makes a strangled noise, kind of like Donnie’s understanding of life is currently doing.

“Congrats, Karai,” Donatello says, a hint of sardonic humor entering his voice. “You’re a big sister.”

Karai stares at Donatello, slack jawed and utterly horrified. Then, snapping out of her shock, she shouts, “ _LIAR!”_ with all the fury of a cornered animal.

“God I wish I was,” Donatello says, looking more tired than regretful. “If you weren’t actually Splinter’s long-lost daughter, my life would have been much less complicated. Possibly speaking, I might not have even existed. If only.”

“Oh my god what is happening,” Leo says in a hoarse voice.

“Something ridiculous,” Donatello answers. He then produces a slim white rectangle from beneath his cloak, and tosses the item towards Karai. It lands on the ground and Karai flinches away from it like it’s a bomb. “Relax, it’s just a letter,” Donatello says. “Your future self told me to give it to you. Whatever she wrote in there will explain mostly everything, I think. She also said to tell you to go to Shinigami, and start digging into the real history of the Hamato and Oroku clans. You’ll find more answers there.”

Karai’s eyes snap back up to Donatello. “How do you know about Shini?” She asks, and Donnie can hear just the faintest hint of tremor in her voice.

Donatello shrugs. “Because, she beat me and my brothers and a friend of ours up one time, and I spent a fair amount of my life afterwards with her flitting in and out of whatever fresh disaster found us that week. She’s alright, if you don’t mind getting mocked or pickpocketed every time you meet up. Oh, and don’t try attacking me again. It won’t work out.”

Karai’s hand freezes, inches from where her sword lays.

Donnie internally freaks, because he realizes Karai had been pulling one of the oldest tricks in the book. And he hadn’t even noticed, too caught up in the torrent of mindboggling information Donatello is throwing out.

“…I should peel you out of your shell and leave you for the carrion birds,” Karai hisses, snatching her sword up anyways. She’s on her feet again in a split second, poised to attack, but Donatello remains unfettered.

“Yeah, you should, but that would be a tactically unsound move,” Donatello says, calm as anything. “You might be better than these two with your ninjutsu, better than me still in the future- but this is the past and I’ve come from a time where I’ve studied every single fighting move you currently know. You try attacking now, when you’re outgunned, outnumbered, and outmaneuvered- you’ll die. Plain and simple.”

Donnie finds his voice, finally. “Wh- _no!_ You just said she’s-”

“She’s not as important to me as our future is,” Donatello cuts him off. He turns a stone-faced look on Donnie. “I discussed it with her future self, and I made myself very clear. If this Karai tries to kill any of you, I kill her. If she won’t listen to reason and look deeper than the surface lies, I kill her.

“I broke into a different dimension, assaulted some of the most powerful beings in the multiverse to get back to this time- I left one of _the most important people in my life_ behind to ensure he, our family, and you get the chance you all deserve to _live your lives._ I’ve given up everything about my own future for you. I gave up my brothers, my best friends, and my father. If you, or _you-”_ He turns a look back to Karai, who is watching him with clear intention to attack again. “-think I won’t do this too, then you are very, very wrong. I will do _anything_ to keep my family safe, and I’m sorry, Karai, but we were never close enough for you to count under that claim.

“So I’ll say it one more time,” Donatello sweeps back his cloak, revealing the collapsed staff again, strapped to his belt. “Go. Take the letter and return to Japan. Find out the truth, and _then_ come back. And never, _ever_ threaten my family again. Or else.”

Karai’s gold eyes dart between them all, her sword still raised threateningly. But, she knows as well as everyone else does- if she fights now, they’ll bring her down before she can blink. There’s no options left other than to retreat.

Karai refocuses on Donatello exclusively, and says tensely, “Who _are_ you?”

And Donatello gives her a somewhat sad look in return.

“Go figure out who _you_ are, before you start asking who _I_ am.”

Karai stares at him for a long moment, and then, faster than a blink, snatches the letter from the roof and runs.

As Karai disappears over the ledge, vanishing like a banished shadow, Donnie turns his eyes back to Donatello. His older self remains stoic and unmoved for another moment, and then…

Slowly deflates, and seems to catch himself before he can fully stumble. The weariness and exhaustion Donnie’s seen in Donatello on and off all night returns in full force, and it seems to almost make Donatello’s legs buckle.

“…Donnie?” Leo asks, drawing attention back to himself again. He’s not staring at Donnie though; he’s staring at Donatello.

Donatello’s head turns towards his- their- older brother, and he stands up straight again. Donnie can only see half of his expression, but for a moment, there’s an unsettling blankness to Donatello’s face.

“What’s going on?” Leo continues. “What- who is this? What happened? Donnie- what the _hell_ did you _do?”_

Donatello takes a step towards Leo, and Leo takes one back.

Donnie’s hands tense around his bo staff. His stomach is twisting with fear and confusion and sickness. He heard how Donatello spoke about their future, heard what his Leo had become and how he’d treated Donatello.

Donnie isn’t sure what Donatello is going to do; now that Leo is right in front of him.

Fire engines and police cars wail in the near distance and the breeze tastes like ashes. Donatello’s cloak billows gently as he walks towards Leo, moving in steady slow steps.

“- _answer me!”_  Leo says, hand going to one of his swords. “Who _are you?”_

Donatello doesn’t answer.

Donnie moves.

He throws himself in front of Leo, crossing the roof faster than he’s ever moved before, and he puts himself between Donatello and his brother.

 _“DON’T!”_ Donnie finds himself shouting.

Donatello blinks at him, blankness still in place. Donnie’s heartrate feels tight and fast in his chest, and he swallows thickly.

“…don’t,” He says, quieter. He lowers his bo tentatively, just enough to not be overtly threatening. “You said he could- you said this was to fix things. Change what happened. Leo hasn’t- he won’t. He won’t. I won’t let him.”

“Donnie?” Leo nearly whispers. "What are you-?"

“I promise,” Donnie says, not breaking eye contact with Donatello. “I promise I won’t let him, and I promise I won’t let Raph or Splinter, either. I won’t let any of them.”

Maybe they'd done horrible things in another lifetime, but this is Donnie's older brother. _H_ _is_ older brother, not Donatello's. And that means Donnie will defend him, even against himself.

He probably would have anyways, even if this Leo was Donatello's. Donnie knows this. He knows it, and he wonders just how he could have changed so much from that in five years.

There’s a drawn out pause, and then Donatello’s blankness breaks. He closes his eyes with a sigh, his posture shifting. When he opens them again, he just looks like someone ready to fall over and never get back up. Someone who is also deeply, deeply sad.

Donatello steps away, turning from them. Regret flickers through his expression as he does. “I know. Sorry. I don’t know what I was doing there. Let’s just… let’s just go home. I have to talk to Splinter before I run out of time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> more to come. *shrugs*


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i return.

Setting foot in the lair should be a relief for Donnie; re-entering the one true safe haven any of them have. The high walls and dark corridors, ringing with well-known voices and packed with familiar possessions- its _home_ to Donnie, and he should feel safer now that he’s here.

He doesn’t. He feels sick, and guilty, and scared.

Most of those feelings stem from the taller version of himself, lagging behind ever so slightly. Donnie thinks Donatello might be limping a little, but he can’t pull together the focus to really tell.

Donnie pushes through the turnstiles of his home, eyes readjusting to the lights and catching sight of his brothers inside. Raph and Mikey, sitting around the television and looking tense as they stare at their phones.

Donnie faintly remembers he turned his phone off, and that Leo has been glued to his since they left that rooftop.

Raph and Mikey whip around towards their entrance, and stark relief crosses their expressions.

“You guys are _okay,”_ Mikey exclaims, already getting off the floor and running towards them. Raph is hardly a step behind, until they catch sight of Donatello and simultaneously freeze.

Donnie sees Leo move away from him and Donatello, shifting to place himself vaguely between them and their brothers. Donnie closes his eyes, breathes out, opens his eyes and tries to not lose his cool right then.

“…yo, Dee?” Mikey asks nervously. “You kinda… got a…”

“A _twin?”_ Raph finishes, moving closer to Mikey. They’re both picking up on Leo’s tension and already falling into ranks; ready to defend.

Donnie squares his courage, and risks a glance over his shoulder. Donatello is looking at Raph and Mikey, a softer edge to his stoic expression.

“I’m not a twin,” Donatello says, nearly laughing at the end. The stifled laughter sounds creaky, out of use. “I’m a future self.”

Mikey’s expression morphs immediately and he looks utterly overjoyed. Raph’s does its usual twist, somewhere between being impressed and annoyed by what’s just happened.

“He killed the Shredder,” Leo says, low and grave, and shattering the brief moment of fascination. “And he made Donnie _help him.”_

The room goes arctic in temperature, eyes on Donnie and Donatello both. Donnie tries to not shy away from his brothers’ gazes, feeling the weight of what he’s done settle a little heavier on his shoulders. His scales are covered in the ash that’d been filling the air, back on that rooftop, and it feels like everyone can see the thin layer of grime and knows _exactly_ what it means.

 _“Dude,”_ Mikey says in a horrified voice. “You… you _killed_ him?”

“ _What?”_ Raph demands. “You _what?”_

 _“There wasn’t any other way,”_ Donnie says, just as Donatello says the same. He startles, looking backwards at his future self; unsettled by how similar their tones are.

Donatello meets his eyes evenly, and continues. “I came back in time to prevent my future from happening,” He says plainly. “The only full proof way to do so was to kill the Shredder before he killed anyone else.”

“That doesn’t make it right,” Leo says, eyes hard. Then, “Donnie, get away from him.”

Donnie can’t make his feet move. He feels caught between his family and Donatello.

He hears the soft ring of Raph’s sais, and the faint clink of Mikey’s nunchucks. Not drawn, but nearly; like Leo’s swords nearly are.

“Things aren’t as black and white as you want them to be, Leo,” Donatello says coolly. “That’s just something that you have to accept.”

Leo bristles, hand tightening around his sword handle. “Donnie, _get away from him.”_

Donnie ducks his head, biting his lip.

He had to do this. He _had to._ If he hadn’t, then-

_“What is going on here?”_

Donnie’s head jerks up, and he’s filled with relief and tension at the same time.

His father stands in the dojo doorway, glaring at them all sternly. After hearing all night about Splinter had _died_ , seeing him as healthy and hale as ever is a sweeping relief. He’s alive and he’ll _stay_ alive, because Donnie prevented the future where he wasn’t.

He hears a sharp intake of breath beside him, and Donnie glances at Donatello.

Donatello’s mask of calm is cracked, showing a stunned disbelief in his expression. He’s staring at Splinter, mouth partially open, and looking for the first time unsure of himself.

Splinter takes in the tense situation, the weapons being drawn, and the double vision of Donnie- and raises one eyebrow.

“My… sons?” He ventures, looking at Donatello warily. “I think we should all take a moment to explain just what is happening.”

The swirl of confusion and panic in Donnie slows, and he takes a shuddering breath. Whatever had happened to Splinter and Donnie in the future, however their relationship had deteriorated or not- here and now he’s Donnie’s dependable father figure, and with him in the room Donnie doesn’t feel so out of control anymore.

“…I’m glad you want to talk,” Donatello says, and Donnie notes the cracks in his expression are gone again. Donatello levels a gaze towards Splinter. “I have a lot to say to you.”

Donnie swallows, and finally gives in the desire to be near his siblings. The moment he’s close enough, Raph grabs his arm and pulls him into line beside Mikey; completing the four man formation Donnie’s brothers had fallen into.

The future Donatello had described hadn’t included this sort of protection, the familial care. Donnie is grateful to still have it, even if the way Raph tells Mikey to shut up makes something in him tense, like the orders Leo had barked out did.

He unsure if he’ll be able to stop that any time soon, the subtly insidious tensing.

Donnie is unsure about most things, at the moment. But, he puts that aside and tries to keep calm as the conversation begins.

\--/--

Talk about the future that Donatello came from is different this time around. He leaves out the worst details, the details about how Donnie and Donatello’s siblings had changed, but he does speak about Splinter’s death and its effect on their family. Donatello leaves out the parts of abuse, vaguely hinting of it at most, and Donnie wonders if this is something he’s leaving up to Donnie’s decision. To tell about it, or keep quiet and change things without notice.

Donnie won’t ever breathe a word about it. He’ll stop the abuse before it ever happens, and he’ll never, ever let his brothers know what could have happened. He’s unsure of how they’d react to that information, but he knows… they would be hurt.

He can’t let them ever know. He won’t put that on their shoulders. It hasn’t happened and it _never will._

Donnie stays quiet through most of the conversation, distantly hearing the questions and answers exchanged. Except for when he’s asked by his father, with large sad eyes, if he really did assist in killing the Shredder.

Donnie closes his eyes when the question comes, unable to look his father in the face with all the guilt swimming in him. Donnie nods numbly, and he hears a ripple of reactions from his family. They’ve never killed before, none of them. It goes against everything their father taught them their entire lives.

Donnie expected the shock, and the horror. He’s ready for it and holds himself steady despite how much he wants to shrink and hide away.

But Donnie isn’t ready for the moment when Splinter falters, eyes going wide as Leo blurts out a revelation that’s still sending them both reeling.

He’s not ready for how his father unconsciously clenches his fists, or how shaken his tone is as he breathlessly says, _“Miwa lives?”_

“She does,” Donatello says, almost gently but not quite. “And she knows the truth, now, even if it’ll take some time for her to come back.”

Splinter shuts his eyes, taking a slow breath in. “All these years… I never knew,” He says in a hushed voice. Splinter opens his eyes and looks to Donatello. “How did you come to find out? How do you know it is _true?”_

“You told us,” Donatello replies. “In my future, you found out from the Shredder and told us later. Karai is Miwa, and I know especially for sure because we spoke with Tang Shen at one point, too.” He keeps going, despite the way Splinter takes an unsteady step. “Myself and my brothers, when we accidentally traveled back in time and saw everything go down between you and the Shredder, and we… well, witnessed it all. Even Karai’s kidnapping.”

“And you didn’t _stop it?”_ Leo demands. Donnie can see his brother is still trying to get his head around Karai being Miwa and thus their sister. That’ll be an… interesting transition to make.

Donatello gives Leo a bland look, and says, “If we had, our entire _existence_ would have been erased. You, me- all of us wouldn’t have existed, likely speaking. If Splinter hadn’t come to America, then we never would have been mutated into sentient beings. Time travel has _consequences,_ Leo. You can’t mess around with it however you like.”

“Like _you_ did?” Leo shoots back. “You said that’s what you were doing, and-”

“And that’s _different!”_ Donatello nearly shouts, making Leo’s mouth snap shut and the room go quiet.

Donnie shifts uncomfortably, the tension in the room unbearable. He darts a glance at his father, then Leo and their siblings. Everyone is staring at Donatello, and it feels like a judgement.

Donnie is deeply uncomfortable with the fact that this is _him,_ five years down the line, and Donatello is making their family _wary_ of him.

Donatello composes himself, and shifts out of the angry, tense posture he’d had. “This is different,” He repeats, quieter. “This is fixing everything, as much as I possibly can. You - you didn’t _see_ what I have. Anything I’ve changed today will be better than that happening. Anything… is better than what happened.”

Donatello casts a look towards Splinter, waiting for something. Donnie doesn’t recognize the look on his face, despite Donatello being him.

Splinter looks… still stunned, but recovering steadily. He stands taller again, and seems to reassert control of himself. “…I would like to hear more, Donatello,” Splinter says in a controlled voice. “But I think I would like it to be just between us.”

Donnie’s heart seizes- he’s not sure what Donatello will do, or say, once he’s alone with Splinter- and he nearly speaks up to stop his father. But, Splinter casts a gentle look towards them all, and subtly signals them to stand down. He knows what he’s doing.

Donnie realizes Splinter is separating them to control the situation, possibly because he thinks Donatello might be dangerous to his sons. Donnie can’t fault that line of logic.

He feels distantly ashamed that Donatello, who isn’t him and yet _is,_ is making his father protective like this.

Donnie just wanted to protect his family, and everything feels like it’s gotten so much more complicated than that.

\--/--

Splinter closes the sliding door behind himself, shutting out his four sons on the other side. It’s a flimsy barricade, but it’s enough to seal away himself and the bizarre man that’s come to their door tonight.

His son- and he knows this is Donatello, despite the growth and age he clearly has gone through- is pacing subtly. Nervous and trying to hide it. Splinter watches this stranger who resembles so closely his son, and notes each difference between them.

Donatello holds himself warily, tense and cautious of everything. His steps are light and his eyes miss nothing. Tiny and large scars dot what little of his limbs Splinter has seen, especially the healed patch of skin on the back of Donatello’s skull; just under where his mask is tied. It looks… life-threatening, that sort of damage.

Donatello’s eyes are still following Splinter’s every move, calculating. Splinter’s son regards him like a stranger, and it unsettles him.

What had happened to Donatello, to make him this way?

“…let us sit,” Splinter says carefully, taking his place in front of the tree. “I feel it could take a while to explain yourself and your… actions.”

The ring of hollow loss is in Splinter’s chest. He feels it, wonders why he possibly still can, and sets it aside for later. His brother, Saki, had been courting this fate for too long. It would only make sense that eventually his crimes would catch up to him, and his end would come. Splinter remembers the man his former brother had been, the bond they’d shared, and grieves for that loss.

But, the fact that Miwa is _alive_ is what really keeps him from truly grieving the Shredder. His daughter, his beautiful baby girl- _alive,_ a fierce and terrifying kunoichi- raised by a murderer and liar. Saki had been his brother, once, but he has attempted and nearly succeeded in stealing everything from Splinter time and again. And yet-

Miwa lives. Her name is Karai, now. His daughter is _alive._

Splinter can’t deal with that, at the moment. Can’t deal with the swirl of implications it presents for the future and the past. He must focus on the present, for now. On the tragedy Donatello has been forced to commit- both Donatello’s.

The man standing before him is not his son, in truth. No longer young and idealistic; the Donatello that stands swathed in silver and ash is a warrior, tried and true. Without asking, Splinter knows there is more than just the Shredder’s blood on his hands.

It hurts, to know his son had to face such brutal obstacles. He grieves for the Donatello in front of him, and he grieves for the shell-shocked one outside the dojo; the younger Donatello looking around like he recognizes nothing of his own home.

Splinter grieves for the loss of innocence in his son. Both versions of his son. This event has changed the younger irreparably, and the older…

Splinter wonders what had happened, beyond his supposed death, to have pushed Donatello to this.

The cloak hiding Donatello’s form billows as he sits, slowly and carefully, and Splinter’s thoughts are interrupted by the sight of blood on Donatello’s leg.

“You’re hurt,” Splinter says, just as Donatello covers the soaked bandage. It looks like a rush job, done on the run and without care.

“It’s nothing,” Donatello says tightly, arranging his cloak to obscure the injury. “We’re here to talk about you, not me.”

Splinter looks at the haggard way Donatello’s over all appearance is, and at the sheer exhaustion in his eyes. And decides something.

“There is such a thing as multitasking,” Splinter says, risking a hint of humor in that sentence. “You taught that to me, and I believe it would not be ill-used at this moment. We can talk while I tend to your injury.”

“I can take care of it myself,” Donatello bites out, narrow eyed, and Splinter is reminded again this is not the Donatello he knows. But.

It is still Donatello. This is a stranger, but this is also his _son._ And Splinter will not sit and talk while his son bleeds.

“I know,” Splinter says, standing and walking to the side of the room. He bends and picks up the kit that is always prepared, checked frequently by himself and Donatello. “But you do not have to.”

Donatello’s mouth forms a thin line, and he looks at the kit and Splinter as though they are suspicious. Splinter lets the narrow look flow over him without acknowledgement, and walks around Donatello to kneel at his side. There’s a tense moment, where Donatello continues to hold himself defensively, and Splinter is unsure if his careful words have been careful enough- but, Donatello relents.

Splinter’s son extends his leg slowly, drawing away the silver cloak to bare the full injury. Splinter wastes little time, starting to remove the old, hastily applied bandages.

There is silence for a few moments; Splinter’s steady work unwinding the stained strips from Donatello’s thigh, and his son watching him, hardly blinking. After the bandages have been taken away, Splinter examines the injury. It’s a swollen, angry looking gash; skin torn apart and scarcely scabbed. From the sounds of tonight’s events, Splinter can only imagine that Donatello hasn’t given himself more than a breath’s pause, let alone enough time to let the wound settle.

Splinter attempts to ask where he received the injury. “My son-”

 _“I’m not your son,”_ Donatello says in a hiss, stopping Splinter short. He looks up to meet Donatello’s eyes, and finds a hard edged gaze. “I’m not your son, you’re not my father. My father died. Your son is out there,” Donatello nods at the dojo screen wall. “and I’m not him. So don’t call me that.”

Splinter holds Donatello’s unforgiving gaze for another moment, and then lowers his eyes back to his work. “Then Donatello it is. Tell me, where did you receive this wound?”

He feels Donatello’s surprise, not an audible thing, but instead a physical pause. Confusion at Splinter’s reply. Had he been expecting a different reaction?

Splinter begins wiping the gash clean, removing stains of dried red around it. He waits patiently for Donatello to speak again.

“…I got distracted in a fight and a timekeeper got lucky,” He says eventually. “It wasn’t a big deal. We- I got the sceptre, in the end. It didn’t matter.”

“Sceptre?” Splinter questions.

“That’s how I traveled back in time. With the time sceptre.”

“Ah,” Splinter accepts this information, adding it to the many strange tales his sons have brought to him over the past months. “And what do you plan to do with it now?”

“I-” Donatello seems to catch himself, and shakes his head minutely. “It doesn’t matter. That’s not what we’re supposed to- talk about.” There’s a hitch in his breath as Splinter spreads a dollop of cream on the gash, but Donatello otherwise betrays no signs of pain. Impressive, but saddening all the same.

“And what are we supposed to talk about?” Splinter questions, screwing the cap back onto the cream.

“How you treat your sons, for one thing,” Donatello says, suddenly accusing and pointed. Splinter lets only one ear flicker at that, shifting his eyes up to Donatello’s again. His son, for all that he defies that title, stares at Splinter- defiant. Defendant and sharp.

Splinter does not bristle under the vague accusation.

He takes out the clean bandages and gauze, and returns to gentle work.

“Then let us talk,” He says to Donatello, calm and open. He finishes the bandaging, satisfied that his son’s leg is no longer slowly festering with old blood and filth.

He hears Donatello’s soft hesitance, only momentary in his slow intake of breath, and then Splinter settles himself to listen. The answers he wants will most likely come in time, hearing Donatello explain and accuse simultaneously. And Splinter is patiently attentive, especially when it comes to his sons.

As Donatello goes on though, Splinter feels his heart grow heavy, and wonders, just maybe, he hasn’t been patient or attentive enough all these years.

\--/--

“You don’t- pay attention, enough. You don’t talk to me, or Mikey, or even Raph, really. Just Leo. And don’t- don’t say you _do,_ because I _know_ you don’t. When was the last time you spent time with any of us outside of training? Or- or when have you _ever_ done _anything_ with us that was our interests and not-”

“…when we were kids doesn’t count. I can’t even remember the last time you spent time with me, or I guess- him.”

“No I’m not- that’s not what this is about. This is about the fact that you consistently and frequently just- just _ignore us_ , and spend all your time with Leo talking about _leader this_ and _ninja clan that_ and it- it can’t keep being that!”

“…I know. I know it’s hard, but- not _trying_ is so much worse, okay? Even if you’d just- just say _hi_ or ask what we’re doing, or compliment him or Mikey or Raph or- _any of us_ about what we’re working on. Maybe ask what we’re reading this week, or. I don’t know. Just- just _actually give a shit,_ okay? Don’t just-”

“-no, _NO,_ I’m not him! You can’t tell me what to do, you _abandoned us-”_

“…”

“…”

“…you didn’t even say goodbye, did you know? Not to me. Not to Mikey, or Raph. Just Leo. You only said goodbye to Leo.”

“That doesn’t make it any better. You saying you would’ve if you could doesn’t make it any better because _my_ father could have and he _didn’t!_ He didn’t and he let himself die and he _left us-”_

“Shut up. You’re not- my father. I don’t want to hear apologies, just- _listen,_ okay? Just let me get this over with.”

“…”

“…”

“…”

“…it used to be like this. My home, my timeline. But- the war, and Shredder, and Karai, and just… all of that, and the _Kraang-”_

“Things went bad, I guess. Under all the strain. Or maybe- and correct me if I’m wrong- it wasn’t just all that. Maybe it was also you and how you- you would just give advice, or reprimand us, or praise Leo- and not _do anything to stop it._ I mean- we were _fifteen._ That’s not even old enough to enlist and you would just let us run off to fight all these- these battles, and then we’d all go home and I’d- I’d have to patch us all up again. We’d have a training session, play some video games, maybe dinner- and then it was right back out again and it just got _worse-”_

“-you weren’t there! You were _never_ there! I- I _stitched Leo back together!_ Do you know how fucking _awful_ that was? He was almost dead and I _stitched him back together-_ ”

“…”

 “…don’t. Don’t- I’m fine. I’m fine.”

“…”

“…I don’t care. You were supposed to protect us and you _didn’t,_ and that’s all. All I care about.”

“You know what you told him to do? After all that? You told him to _get over it._ Leo was _sixteen_ and you told him to get over a major physical trauma that nearly _killed him-”_

“That’s not how trauma works, Splinter. And you know that. You know it and you did that to him anyways.”

“That’s-”

_“No.”_

 “ _You don’t get to say that to me!_ Not after _everything_ you let happen to us-”

“I _tried!_  I tried and I tried and I was _one person!_ One person and not even the fucking leader! I didn’t get any special training from you for that shit, I didn’t get any techniques or- or scrolls of knowledge. I just had _me_ and fucking _google_ to deal with it all!”

“- _the healing hands!_ The fucking- why didn’t you teach us that? You only- you only ever taught it to _Leo!_ How the hell did you expect us to survive after you died if you just kept giving everything to him and leaving the rest of us with _nothing-!”_

“You gave me nothing. You left me _nothing.”_

“You didn’t even say goodbye. Did I mean- did we mean that _little-?”_

“Shut up.”

“Shut _up.”_

 _“-and I don’t want to hear it! I don’t want apologies, I just want you to_ fix this-!”

_“Don’t touch me!”_

_“…”_

_“…”_

“…I know. I know but I’m not him. I haven’t been him in years.”

“…I’m not sorry for what I did. Shredder was the source of a lot of this, and I guess… I figured that if he wasn’t there anymore to put pressure on you, or- me and my brothers, then maybe things here would go better. But you can’t- can’t make the same mistakes-”

“You know what I’m talking about. It’s… it’s not _okay_ right now, but it’s not anywhere near as bad as-”

“It is. It really, really is.”

“I wish I were lying. I really wish I was.”

“Don’t let Raph hit Mikey, or- or me, or let Leo order us around like soldiers instead of family- tell them when they’re out of line! Don’t let them just _mock us_ all the time! Do you know what that does to Mikey? He just _takes it_ , and then _laughs about it,_ and I fucking hate it because I know he knows it’s wrong and because you never _said_ it was _he won’t admit it-”_

“It’s not normal. _None_ of that is normal. It ruined our lives and our relationships and it’s _not normal-”_

_“I killed to undo what happened, if you let it happen again I’ll-”_

“- _they used me like a workhorse!_ I never got a break! It was just- _nonstop all the time-_ Donnie fix this, Donnie fix that- did you come up with more retromutagen yet? Did you get the cars checked up? Any new weapons for us to play with and _break-”_

“…”

“…”

“…”

“…I hate them. I love them and I hate them. I did this for them and-”

“It’s worth it. Even I’d died trying it would be worth it.”

“Don’t make the same mistakes. Don’t let it happen again. I- I gave up _everything_ for this. Be better than he was, please. For them.”

“Don’t let my future happen ever again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in the end, i decided to go with a limited perspective of the confrontation with Splinter + some missing dialogue, since writing a full perspective one would've taken eons. i also just like this version better.  
> still a bit more to come, and probably more stuff in the series afterwards, so be sure to subscribe to it.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *posts a massive update in the middle of the night*
> 
> wow that was only three whole days of my life. nice.

Passing Mikey’s room, Donnie pauses.

His brother is laughing, loud and free. It’s not that that is an unusual thing to hear from him, but… this laughter is different. It’s different because Donnie can tell it’s _real_ , genuine in a way Mikey rarely is anymore.

He has to see why, because it’s been a long while since he heard sincere joy from Mikey. Inside he finds his answer.

Renet is laughing with Mikey, her flickering projection from the holo-call shaking as the both of them crack up. Though, subtly, Mikey’s laughter misses a beat as he registers someone has entered his room.

A quick once over, just a glance, and his nearly undetectable caution disappears. Donnie isn’t Raph, or Leo, and there for not a reason to be on guard. Too much, at least. Donnie hears that the laughter is not as free as it was before he made his presence known, and that’s a deeply saddening thing.

“Hey,” He says, not going further than the threshold. “What’s got you two in stitches like this?”

Mikey shrugs, like the fit of laughter hadn’t had any meaning. “Nothin’, just future nonsense. Renet’s telling me about what this one dude did-”

 _“-he caused an entire wing of the school to shut down, it was soooo hilarious!”_ Renet exclaims, her little holo-self still holding her sides as she wheezes. “ _Like,_ I _screwed up super bad as an apprentice, but that was whole other level!”_

Donnie tilts his head as he watches the two of them tell the story, handing it back and forth like Mikey had actually been there. It’s nice to see, since these days… Mikey is very private about his friends, rarely talking in depth about anything regarding them.

Donnie is tired though, enough that his eyes have been stinging for hours, and he doesn’t notice that the conversation has shifted. By the time he does, they’re talking about the upcoming party, and Mikey is giving Donnie side glances. Clearly wondering why he’s still here and listening in without comment.

“So you’ll come, right?” Mikey asks, holding the little device close to himself. Donnie hears real nervousness underneath his bright tone, that his friend will say no.

 _“Of course! I got permission like, months ago,”_ Renet says, clasping her hands together and beaming. “ _No way I’m gonna miss your b-day if I can totes make it.”_

Mikey doesn’t show his relief at those words, but Donnie can sense it anyway. “That’s great! Oh man, we got you, and the Mutanimals, and Casey and April, maybe even Karai and Shinigami… I’m gonna have to bake a _huge_ cake…”

So Renet has been given permission to travel back to their time again? Huh. For an organization that explicitly forbids interfering with the past, they sure do give her a lot of freedom to come see them…

It would have been nice if she’d used that power to warn them, about everything that’s happened over the years.

Donnie swallows that bitter thought- _she’s not allowed to, there are rules and it’s not her fault she didn’t-_ and buries it under his many others. Time travel just mucks things up worse, at least when Renet is involved. Better to just deal with the present and not dream about impossibilities.

But…

Donnie shakes off that vague, half formed thought, and leaves his brother’s room. Mikey doesn’t call after him to stay, and Donnie doesn’t say goodbye.

 

\--/--

 

It comes back to him later, that vague thought. In the earliest hours of the day, when all of his brothers have finally gone to bed and Donnie is alone, the dark thought returns.

Renet is forbidden from interfering with the past, her entire society is, but Donnie _isn’t._ And, he likes to think he’s more capable than her. He wouldn’t screw over their futures like she nearly has, many times.

In fact…

Donnie rubs his eyes, slumping against his lab table and shaking his head. No, no that’s too far. That’s insane. It’s one thing to _fix_ a broken timeline- which they have- but it’s a whole other to completely alter its path. Professor Honeycutt was a onetime event. They don’t get do-overs like that anymore. Things are what they are, and there’s no changing that.

Is there?

But what if there was? How _would_ he change things?

Donnie can’t even pick one spot, his mind leaping to a hundred tragedies all at once. The invasions, the multiple times Shredder nearly killed them all, the Kraang taking April’s father, the Kraang taking _April,_ Casey’s broken ribs, Leo’s leg and throat, their father’s _death-_

Donnie shuts his eyes, and takes a slow breath.

If- _if-_ he could change something, what would he change to prevent the most harm? What event would erase majority of those things?

Donnie swallows dryly, and knows. Knows the source of almost all those terrible events.

Shredder. Kill him, and more than half of those traumatising nights disappear. At the root of all those events, it was the Shredder finding his family, and then relentlessly pursuing them until they finally had to put him down.

Donnie still remembers that night, the evening when they lost the only parent they’d ever had and finally let _go_ of something.

There wasn’t any choice left. They’d been backed into a corner and they had only each other, then. Only Leo to look to for guidance.

Donnie remembers his brother, staring emptily at the air after they’d retreated, knelt in front of their father’s wrapped up corpse and seeming just as dead. Leo hadn’t said anything for a full day, until they arrived at the farmhouse to bury Splinter.

And then the stillness like death was gone from him, and he smiled again. Said a rousing speech and sent them into battle for revenge.

Watching that happen had been somewhat chilling for Donnie. The way Leo took every ounce of horror in himself and just- discarded it. Removed it completely. He would have thought that it was simply his brother putting on a brave face until what needed to be done was done, but it _never stopped._

Leo is still smiling, still set into a role their father gave him and never diverging from it, not even watching his favorite shows most nights, and Donnie doesn’t know if Leo will ever return to who he’d been before all this. He doubts it, and he hates it.

Though, after the way Leo did the exact same thing the first time around, when he recovered from his near fatal injuries and coma, Donnie felt and still feels he should have expected it. That whatever broken fissure that’d healed wrong in his brother’s mind would take all that whirling grief, and swallow it whole. Like it’d never been, and Leo wouldn’t ever speak of it again.

Without Shredder, without the coma and the loss, Leo probably wouldn’t have ever become who he is now. Donnie suspects that Leo wouldn’t be as shallowly happy as he is, seemingly unable to be anything less than the leader, the _Sensei,_ of their family, and going through every night in a rigid pattern.

And Raph. Maybe, without the stress of all the war and loss and the witnessing- _thrice over-_ of their father’s death, he wouldn’t be so quick to lash out. Maybe Donnie’s brother wouldn’t take out his fury and confusion on the rest of them- on _Mikey_ , really- if Shredder hadn’t hit them again and again with brutal, unending fights and tragedies.

Maybe their father wouldn’t have been so busy meditating on battle strategies and deep thoughts; wouldn’t have been so busy teaching Leo, loving Leo, paying attention to _Leo-_ had Shredder not found them, dragged them into a war, and left Splinter with little enough attention for anyone other than his favorite son. Maybe Raph wouldn’t have been scolded instead of guided when he lost control, and maybe Splinter would have stopped the blows before they landed on anyone.

Maybe Mikey wouldn’t smile like he does, while he’s laughed at, not _with,_ and take punches without comment. Maybe he wouldn’t just let it happen and brush it off like it didn’t. Without Shredder, maybe the barrier around Mikey- one made of self-preservation and carefully ignored feelings- wouldn’t exist. Maybe he’d still confide in them and laugh sincerely and not be afraid to show that he cares about something. Maybe he’d still trust them.

Maybe Donnie wouldn’t have just settled into this life without fighting back, had he not been worn down over years and years of weight on his shoulders, carrying what felt dangerously like the lives of his family on his back and living with the knowledge that if he said no, if he said _I’ve had enough_ to his brothers, one of them or all of them would _die_.

Maybe he would have made different choices, stood up instead of sitting silent, vocalized every thought he had that it wasn’t _fair,_ that his father hardly looked at him and never at Mikey, that all the hopes and dreams and expectations he was putting on Leo’s shoulders were going to _break him_ one day, that every time he let Raph actually _hurt_ someone and barely scolded him for it wasn’t helping _anything_ or _anyone_ -

That they’re not soldiers. They’re not stone cold ninjutsu users with a clan honor to protect. Or they didn’t used to be.

Donnie looks down at the table in front of him, filled with scattered bolts and wires and half-finished inventions, and still doesn’t know if he misses his father properly or not anymore.

 

\--/--

 

“Hey.”

Donnie stills, roused from his work by a soft voice. It’s one he’ll always respond to, no matter how engrossed he is.

April leans in the doorway of his lab, arms crossed and a tired look in her eyes. He doesn’t get up to greet her, and she takes the unspoken request to come closer. He waits for her to approach him before standing, setting aside the schematics he’s studying at the moment.

April is in her jumpsuit, again, like always, tonight. No sword across the small of her back, but the ever present tessen is strapped to her thigh. Donnie is faintly awed, and saddened, that she’s now gotten so good at concealing weapons on her small body he can’t spot any more, for all he knows they’re there.

“You’ve been… quiet, lately,” April says, still not raising her voice above a half-whisper. “Everything alright? I haven’t seen you out of this lab in days. Is Leo…?”

Donnie shakes his head. No, it’s not Leo’s word keeping him in here; it’s his own spiralling thoughts, however related they are to his sibling. April purses her lips, a tight look of worry flickering through her eyes for a brief moment, and then vanishing.

“How’re you?” Donnie asks instead, to which April shrugs in response.

“Fine,” She says vaguely. “School’s been… complicated. At least I’m busy, right?” April laughs, but Donnie hears tiredness in it. “Could be worse.”

 _We could still be at war,_ she doesn’t say, though it’s implied. And Donnie wonders what sort of regret she’s expressing.

Normal things, average things, every day human world things- they tire April out as badly as fighting constantly had. Donnie knows she’s still struggling to come back from that, from spending all her high school years training to fight war after war. She’s bright and furious and terrifying in a battle, untouchable and unstoppable. But when they go home, he sees her shrink in places, curling on herself and looking lost in brief, heart wrenching seconds. Like she doesn’t know what to do with herself, now that no one is attacking them anymore.

Donnie feels a pang, deep inside him, as he raises a hand to April’s cheek. A small scar is there, one of hundreds all over her body, and she puts her hand over his as he cups her face. Eyes questioning why the touch, why his silence?

April was made for war, designed to conquer planets and terraform them into something entirely different. More powerful than any living being on earth, and grown into that power bit by bit until she stood tall and undefeatable.  

But she was just a kid when they first met her. They all were.

Back then, none of them were made for war. They were just kids.

Now, April is shatter sharp and twice as deadly as any of them. And it weighs on her, invisible as her powers. Donnie’s readjustment to life outside of fighting, without his father’s presence, that’s one thing, but April’s? She trying to fit back into the mold of an average girl, going to school and attempting to find happiness in a career path completely unrelated to anything violent. Laying down weapons that’ve all but melded to her hands and repressing instincts to watch every person like a potential threat. Donnie knows those things, because she’s told him, only a few times, late at night and in an absent voice as she cleans bruised knuckles.

She’s been through more wars than most veterans would dare to dream of, seen more horrors than any could handle, and there’s been no one to support her afterwards except for Donnie’s broken family, and her own struggling father.

And he helped make her this way, encouraged it. She’s beautiful and awe inspiring, but in a lot of ways, burdened by failures and hurts and betrayals, April is somewhat tragic. They all are, if Donnie wants to take all the ugly, painful facts about his life and family and romanticise them.

He loves April, dearly, implicitly, and it hurts him to know there’s nothing either of them will ever be able to do to mend half the harm done to her. Done to their relationship, leading up to the night she killed him, and no one had noticed what was wrong until it was far, far too late.

He still can’t look her in the eyes with her hair down, or feel safe when she’s levitating him. She still can’t wear necklaces, or talk about what it felt like to be possessed by something so twisted and corrupt. Donnie doubts any of those painful limitations will ever go away.

“What’re you planning, Donnie?” April asks, because she still picks up on things, even repressing her powers like she does. Her eyes drift to his laptop, to the digital blueprints of the old church building Donnie has stolen from Karai’s computer systems. “Is Karai up to something?”

No, but Donnie might be.

“No, I’m just… thinking about things,” Donnie says, turning his hand away from her cheek to wrap his fingers around hers.

What if he stopped April from becoming this person, amazing as she is? What if he changed her past, her future? What _if?_

April looks at him, long and careful, and then squeezes his hand; letting their joined hands drop to waist level.

“Be careful,” She says, and blessedly, doesn’t ask why he needs to be. Donnie says nothing, even as she pulls him close to rest their foreheads against one another.

Because he won’t lie to her and say he will. He owes her that much after everything he brought into her life, the night he caught her and begged for trust.

Sometimes he wonders, truly, if that trust was well placed or not.

 

\--/--

 

What makes his wandering thoughts into serious plans is something that's small compared to everything, and yet still so heavy in Donnie’s heart.

Sometimes Donnie goes out, disappears with April, or Casey, or just by himself- and doesn’t think about the confining walls of his lab and home. Doesn’t think of the responsibilities or ghosts that haunt him constantly when he’s there, just enjoying a stiff evening breeze as he darts across rooftops under the dark sky. Sometimes, he cuts himself free, and thinks of nothing at all.

But without him at home…

On a night Donnie has gone out, escaping his family and himself for a scant few hours, he comes back to find Mikey in front of the television. His brother silently mashing the controller’s buttons faster than Donnie’s eyes can keep track of, lighting up the videogame with brutal combo attacks against the AI fighter.

Donnie’s appearance attracts momentary attention from Mikey- hunching shoulders, tensing posture, a wary eye cast over his shoulder- and Donnie’s relaxed mood turns icy cold at the purple clouding Mikey’s scales.

Donnie remembers in a sudden rush, that tonight was group spar night. And he’d skipped out without even consciously thinking of it.

Mikey was the only one here, the only one to be pitted against their siblings. The only target.

Mikey’s left eye is black around its rim, and his lip has a split on the side; both of them swelling darkly. Donnie can’t see any other injuries, but he knows, he _knows,_ they’re there, possibly everywhere.

Mikey doesn’t even look at him longer than a second, turning away and going back to pummeling his opponent into coded dust.

“Leo’s lookin’ for you,” Mikey says tonelessly and without looking, a subtle warning. “You skipped training.”

Donnie swallows, bile in his throat and prickly sharp emotion going down his spine. “Sorry,” He says softly.

“Not me should be sayin’ that to,” Mikey mumbles, even though it really is.

“I’m sorry,” Donnie repeats anyway. Mikey just finishes destroying the AI controlled opponent; noisily killing the digital fighter with a final attack. The words _K.O._ float across the screen, accompanied by score stats.

“He’s in the dojo,” Mikey says, instead of acknowledging the apology. Donnie knows waiting for more will be useless. Mikey is mad, showing it in his own way by refusing to accept a sorry. And even that is big for him, when most slights are dropped quicker than they happen.

Donnie left Mikey alone, during a time that they _both_ hate, that they both need to be present to lessen the burden on each other, and wasn’t even here to patch up his injuries afterwards. Donnie deserves that quiet punishment.

Donnie looks up at the closed dojo doors- soft light coming from within, an eerie déjà vu of when Splinter was the one waiting to doll out punishments and reprimands- and knows it’ll just be worse if he delays.

As he walks away from Mikey, unable to face the betrayal he’s done there, and filled with dread at being forced to listen to his older brother act like he’s decades wiser than Donnie, like Leo is their _father_ and not their sibling- Donnie makes a quiet decision.

Maybe Donnie can handle it _(he’s lying to himself, lying constantly that he can live like this-)_ but Mikey is going to disappear, probably as soon as Donnie is finished being scolded. Donnie’s only little brother will fade out like a shadow, even harder to catch than one, and won’t come home for at least a week. And when he does come home, home from hiding with Leatherhead, with the Mutanimals, by himself in the streets of their endless city- Mikey will smile like nothing had ever happened to begin with.

And that, to Donnie, is the worst part of it all.

Donnie decides that for Mikey, battered and beaten down, for April, who never got a chance to be anything but a weapon, for Leo, sitting in the dojo and set into the only role their father let him have, for Raph, no doubt somewhere and unthinking of the damage he does every night and unable to even recognize he does it at all-

For them, Donnie will fix this.

He’ll fix it all, even if it costs him everything.

 

\--/--

 

Donnie makes plans, intricate ones with dozens of factors. He makes them, scraps them, and makes a dozen more.

He scours his personal journals and notes, returning his mind to the years that’ve passed. He studies every entry with precise concentration, searching for the _moment_ that will fix everything.

He’s long since figured out how the timekeepers use their abilities, long since mastered the theoretical steps to wielding them successfully. It doesn’t come from blood, or genetics, or a special power passed down. No, it comes from impossibly complicated future technology, and absolute understanding of chronology and metaphysics. It comes from understanding the flow of time itself, and having the skill to memorize the details of the centuries, decades, years and months and days of where you’re aiming to travel to.

It’s not just throwing yourself without thought into the stream of time. Its years and years of studying its ebb and flow to know how to steer through it; decades of hard, single minded concentration on a skill that takes unerring focus to master completely.

Donnie figured it out (theoretically) within a few weeks. It would have been less if he hadn’t had other things to take his attention.

The people of the future are not just stingy, cold, unfeeling assholes, but apparently they’re not even close to the level of advancement he’d thought they were when he first met Renet.

Donnie chooses his date, after debating and deliberating and second guessing himself that this is _crazy_ and too extreme and he’s a horrible, horrible person for even coming up with his scheme in the first place.

It’s the suffocating, deadened air of his home that reminds him why he has to do this. It spurs him on, until Donnie has just a few pieces left to set in place.

It’s a week until his twentieth birthday. He has little time left.

 

\--/--

 

Donnie ignores the stares of Karai’s personal guard, however little she needs them, and doesn’t falter as he speaks.

“If you could tell your past self anything, what would you tell her?” He asks his older sister, and Karai’s narrow gold eyes widen just a fraction.

“…odd question,” She says, crossing her legs and leaning on the arm of her throne. “and none of your business.”

“I’m guessing it’d be about the Shredder’s lies to you,” Donnie states boldly. He’s not afraid of Karai anymore, and even her ‘ _I dare you to keep talking about that’_ glare doesn’t cow him. “What would you say if I said I could give you the chance to make that happen?”

Karai’s eyebrow quirks upward and Shinigami at her left shifts subtly, waiting for orders to remove Donnie from the church.

“I would ask how you would expect something like that to be possible, and just what you’ve been inhaling in that lab of yours, Donatello.”

“What if I could give you all this sooner?” Donnie waves a hand around himself, at the guards and the empire and the power Karai took by force. “By years, Karai. You’d have this all sooner by _years_ , and you wouldn’t have mutations, either.”

He’s officially piqued her interest; Karai settling a cold, very servile look on him. Donnie is glad she’s responsive to the idea, seeing as trying to put a stopper on past Karai’s murderous revenge would be _much harder_ without her own words to do so. In truth, Donnie doubts anyone other than Karai herself could do such a thing.

“Now,” Karai says, uncrossing her legs and leaning forwards. “I say keep talking.”

Donnie does. He gives her the part of his plan he’d need from her- _only_ that part, the rest is his alone to know- and Karai sends her guards out before she answers.

“…give me a night to think about this,” Karai says after a long pause. Her eyes flicker green as she looks down on him, calculating and predatory. “Come back tomorrow, I’ll have a letter for you. Don’t be late.”

Donnie wouldn’t dream of it, knowing the brutality Karai barely hides from Leo. And for however little he really trusts her, he knows one thing for certain: Karai wouldn't ever jeopardize her position of power. She'll keep quiet about this, like Donnie requested, because she knows him well enough in turn to know that whether she cooperates or not, Donnie will go through with this. Better to sign on and watch where the pieces fall from afar, safe in her lair and secure one way or another in her power.

They're not close by any measure, but at least Donnie and Karai can understand each other, sometimes. It's more than Donnie would have thought ever possible when he was younger.

 _One part down,_ he thinks when he returns, taking a slim envelope that contains words he’ll never be privy to.

 

\--/--

 

“You’re going to do something, aren’t you? Something big.”

Donnie doesn’t meet April’s eyes, keeping them on the ground of the tunnel they stand in; just outside the lair and out of hearing range.

Her hands find his, holding loosely. “…Donnie, you can tell me straight out what it is, you know that, right?” _You can trust me with this,_ she doesn’t say, but it hangs heavy in the air.

Donnie still doesn’t meet her eyes- he can’t- but says, “I’m going somewhere… and I don’t think I’ll ever come home again.”

A sharp intake of breath. “Donnie… what?”

He tightens his hands around her; gentle, not so tight that she can’t pull away. “April… if you could change everything that happened to us… wouldn’t you?”

She says nothing in response, his words sinking slowly into the darkness around them. Donnie finally looks up when he can’t wait anymore, at April’s eyes, which seem so much older than just a scant two decades.

She looks… so worn out, cracked in small but vital places.

“…yes,” April whispers after a long moment of staring. Some kind of distant sadness clouds her eyes. “Yes I would. Why? Where are you going?”

“Will you come with me?” He asks instead of answering, unable to explain just how drastic and terrible an act he’s about to commit. Something in him trembles faintly. He’s giving up nearly everything, destroying it with his own hands- but he still can’t just _leave her._ “Please, April?”

She’s broken and beautiful and he _knows_ how badly it hurts her to keep battling endless enemies- but Donnie knows something in him will break irreparably without her, if he has to say goodbye forever.

The confusion he sees in her sometimes, the look of being _lost,_ sweeps over her, and April’s eyes are still distant.

“I… I need to think,” and that’s all she says in response.

They hold hands for a moment longer, and she draws away. Donnie doesn’t chase after her as she does, and doesn’t, even for a second, much as he wants to, restrain her escape in any way.

 _Two parts down,_ he bitterly thinks, and buries the ache inside him.

 

\--/--

 

“New weapon? And you didn’t invite me to the science party? Rude.”

Donnie snorts, tossing a pair of gloves at Casey. “If you’re so eager to get involved, do me a favor and put these on.”

Casey listens, for once in his life, and just as he’s slid on the thick rubber gloves, Donnie swings the silver staff at him full force. Casey makes a cut off yelp, catches the rod with his gloved hands, and then shrieks as a small shock of electricity gets through them.

“You- _jackass!”_ Casey yells, dropping the staff and shaking his hands, retreating a safe distance from Donnie. “Coulda fucking _warned me!”_

“No fun in that!” Donnie laughs, pressing down on the thumbprint keyed button on his new invention and sliding it into its smallest form. “Thank you, though. Good to know not even insulated gloves can stop it anymore.”

“You’re an asshole, take your crummy gloves back and shove ‘em,” Casey grumbles, tossing the gloves at Donnie’s face. Donnie just keeps laughing, dodging the weak attack.

“So what’d you want me here for anyway?” Casey asks, and the humor in Donnie dies slowly. His friend leans on a lab table, eyeing the array of weapons and infiltration tools set out for maintenance. “You and your bros plannin’ on some kind of raid? I thought Karai had all that on lockdown already.”

“No, no it’s not a raid,” Donnie says, laying his upgraded weapon on the table next to its brethren. “Well… at least not a team one.”

Casey gives a curious look. “Oh? Now I’m interested. Lay it on me.”

With a sigh, Donnie tells him he’ll want to sit down for this one, and that under no circumstances can he tell _anyone_ about this. Casey looks a little confused by that, but still undeterred as he takes a stool for himself.

When Donnie is done giving vague details, Casey’s expression has steadily slid into grimness.

“…that’s kinda extreme, Don,” His friend says, oddly quiet in tone. Casey levels a serious look at him. “You really going through with something like that?”

Donnie doesn’t need Casey to tell him it’s extreme, that it’s insane. He’s already told himself that a thousand times in the past day alone.

“I have to,” Donnie says, folding his hands together in his lap and looking at them. _For my brothers, for April, for_ you, he doesn’t say.

_For all of us, for what was taken from us. For what we deserved._

“And your bros don’t know? At all?”

“No. This is my decision.”

“Oh…”

Casey is quiet for as long as Donnie is, mulling over the dark plan. Donnie finally breaks the silence, asking the question he has to place on Casey.

“Will you come with me?” Donnie asks in a near whisper. “I can’t… I don’t know if I could pull it off on my own.”

 _I don’t want to be alone in this,_ he doesn’t say, keeping that horrible little thought close to his heart and refusing to let it slip out into the air.

Casey tilts his head, leaning on his palm. Still thinking. The seconds tick by and Donnie feels guiltier and guiltier. Its one thing for Donnie to decide to give everything up, but Casey has a _life._ He has a family who loves him, one that isn’t made of broken pieces grinding against each other, and he has a real future. Casey, out of all of them, is the one who could walk away from it all and live a normal life, no inhuman limitations or legacies to keep him from that.

Donnie has never been able to figure out why his friend stayed, through everything, and he’s never been able to ask. Too grateful for the act to question it deeply.

“Why not tell them?” Casey asks after a time, grimacing and looking uncomfortable. “You guys… don’t you all do this kind of crazy stuff together? You’re really just gonna… leave ‘em?”

Donnie looks at the table, heavy shame constricting his throat.

“This is for their own good,” Donnie says, and ignores how terrible it is for him to say so. To make such a life changing decision and not even ask them if they want this. “It’ll be… better. I know it will. If I can just- _change things,_ more than half of what’s happen… won’t.”

“But we’ll all end up different people, possibly.”

Donnie winces. “That is a distinct possibility, and I’m sorry, but it’s one I’m hoping for. You can’t-” Donnie’s memories surface, of every soul sucking tragedy that’s slowly eaten away at them all. “You can’t say it wouldn’t be better. If we never went through those things.”

He can feel Casey’s gaze, uncharacteristically contemplative of what Donnie’s told him. The stretch of time drags on Donnie, crawling by and getting worse to bear by the second.

“You know what?” Casey says after an eternity. “Sure. Why not? You’ll do somethin’ stupid one way or another, and without Casey Jones to watch your back you’ll probably fuck up and die horribly.”

Donnie laughs, startled and hoarse, and doesn’t even know how to respond to that kind of explicit trust.

He settles on a rough, _“Thank you,”_ and pretends he’s not feeling a sweeping, heavy relief.

Though he will never, ever admit it out loud, the idea of having _Casey Jones_ watching his back through all this is by far the most comforting thought Donnie has had in weeks.

Donnie feels he’ll never figure out why Casey stayed, or how he ended up with a friend like this in the first place. But that doesn’t matter, really. Casey is here, is going to help him, and even if he’s never seemed to really figure out how bad Donnie’s family situation actually is, at least he’s hasn’t… worsened it.

That’s a small blessing, and Donnie will take anything he can get.

 _Three parts down,_ he thinks, and gratefully clasps the hand of one of the best friends he’ll ever have.

 

\--/--

 

Mikey finds him before Donnie works up the nerve to seek out his brother, appearing in the doorway of Donnie’s room on evening while he’s checking  for the thousandth time the statistical chances of the jump succeeding.

“Mikey?” Donnie asks, turning his swivel chair towards the open doorway. “What is it?”

“How do you, uh,” Mikey bites his lip, looking guilty and scared. “How do you fix the plastic covering of a console? And, um. The stuff inside it?”

Donnie sits back in his chair. “Well… if it’s broken that bad, you can’t really? Not without replacing nearly all the parts…”

Mikey rubs his face anxiously. “Shit,” He says under his breath. Then, in a hushed voice, “I broke Raph’s. You _sure_ you can’t put it back to normal?”

Donnie’s eyes widen. “You-?”

 _“It was an accident,”_ Mikey says hurriedly. “I was just- I just _tripped_ , okay? The cord got caught and I. I fell on it.”

Donnie tries to find words to comfort Mikey, but can’t. From the sounds of things, there’s no feasible way even Donnie could fix the console completely. Raph would know.

And lying about whatever he’s mad at you for usually just makes it worse.

Donnie sighs, feeling like he’s failed again. “Sorry… I wish I could help.”

Mikey shrugs, and mumbles something along the lines that he _“-shouldn’t’ve taken it in the first place. ‘s my own fault for being stupid.”_

Heavy atmosphere descends, and before Mikey can retreat- possibly to disappear until the worst of Raph’s anger is passed- Donnie says,

“Wait, wait I. I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”

Mikey stops, turning back towards Donnie and away from the door. He looks at Donnie questioningly, and briefly, Donnie feels the weight that Mikey trusted him enough to come to for help, and then didn’t get angry when he couldn’t.

For how they are these days, the last few years, that’s big. And Donnie’s throat constricts around the even bigger offer of trust that he’s trying to get out.

“What is it?” Mikey crosses his arms, only slightly defensively. Just a precaution, not shutting Donnie out completely.

“It’s… I’m…” Donnie wants to just say it, invite his brother along and take him out of this timeline. He wants to be able to give his brother a piece of his plan and know Mikey won’t tell anyone else.

But what if he does? It’s… not a plan Mikey would agree with easily, likely speaking. When it comes to the few friends they have, the even fewer that Mikey truly cares about, he doesn’t back off as quickly as he does with everything else. He’s actually willing to fight for what he wants, when it concerns them.

Donnie isn’t sure that Mikey will say _okay_ to this plan, considering how it affects someone he deeply cares about. Isn’t sure this is something he can be confident in giving to his brother.

When it comes down to it, neither of them completely trust each other anymore.

“Donnie?” Mikey asks after Donnie doesn’t say anything. “C’mon, I can’t hang around all night, I gotta-”

_“MIKEY!”_

Mikey flinches, eyes squeezing shut as their older brother bellows from down the hall. Wherever Raph was before, he’s back now and he’s no doubt discovered the remnants of his console. Mikey shows dread in his eyes as he glances out into the hall; Raph’s yelling for him getting louder the longer it takes for him to respond.

“Make this quick, Dee,” Mikey says under his breath, fidgeting. “I don’t have a lot of time to spare here.”

Donnie tries again to form the sentences he needs to; to find the brilliant explanation that will only take a second and convince Mikey of it not another later. His brother keeps waiting for him to speak, even as his fidgeting gets worse and Raph’s bellows for him continue.

Donnie fails to find the words, mouth dry and thoughts escaping his grasp. Why is this so hard, why can’t he just _say it-_

Donnie keeps struggling internally, and Mikey casts a glance over his shoulder; their brother’s bellows getting louder and angrier. “Look, I-” Raph yells again, fury clear in his voice, and Mikey edges out of the room with a downcast look. “I gotta go.”

And he does. Donnie’s brother disappears like a whisper of wind, down the hall and towards the main room. Donnie can’t bring himself to call Mikey back, and still can’t find any way to speak the words he wanted to.

For a brief moment, Donnie hopes Mikey is about to pull one of his disappearing acts, vanishing without a trace, but then Raph’s yells quiet.

And then start again, and get louder.

Donnie slumps on himself, hands over his face as he catches bits and pieces of what happens. Inside, he shakes with something caught between anger and pity.

_“Come on, Raph, it’s just a console, I’m- I’m sure Dee can fix it- or we could get a new one-”_

_“It was MY console, dipshit!  You used it without fucking permission and you_ broke it-”

_“I didn’t mean to-”_

_“That doesn’t fucking matter, you_  used it without asking-!”

Donnie covers his ears, and feels like the worst person alive that he can’t force himself to walk out there and say _stop._ His feet won’t respond and something inside him says “- _if not Mikey, then it would be_ me,” and that might be the worst betrayal he’s ever committed.

The sound of someone making a cut off pained cry is heard even this far away, and Donnie flinches at it. Heart beating fast and shallow.

A long pause, and no others follow. But from outside his room, he knows its Raph’s bedroom door that slams shut. Its only after a long few seconds does Donnie uncurl himself from his hunch; listening for where Mikey is headed, now that the matter is… settled.

He hears no footsteps, and he doesn’t hear Mikey’s door shut. Donnie swallows dryly, knowing his little brother has disappeared into the tunnels- to _safety-_ and won’t be back until tomorrow.

They’re turning twenty tomorrow. It’s their birthday, and Mikey is probably going to be hiding hurts all through it.

Donnie is a shitty brother, and he knows Mikey should have left them all behind years ago. He could have done it, too. Mikey is resourceful in ways the rest of them aren’t, and more than capable of taking care of himself in even the most hostile environments. Dimension-X proved that for fact. Mikey could have, _should have_ , left them all to rot in their underground lair years ago, and never looked back. He could have gone free.

But Mikey stayed. He stayed and he still, despite everything, seems to love them as much as he did before things started to unravel. He stayed through all the years he slowly became a personal punching bag, the permanent butt of the joke, and he’s smiled the entire time. He’s loved them the entire time.

Donnie wishes, quietly and achingly, that Mikey hadn’t stayed, even though it would have meant Donnie being alone.

Mikey would have been happier, he thinks.

Donnie waits a little longer, for Raph to start making noise in his room- _his drum kit, he’ll be busy for at least a few hours_ \- and then he slips out to his lab.

He pulls out the drawer of his largest work table, retrieving the most crucial part of his plan. The slim silver metal gleams in the light as he takes a screwdriver to a crescent half of it, and Donnie loses himself in the act of creating for a while. Blotting out everything he’s just witnessed and letting it bury itself in his mind.

He doesn’t let his hands shake. The invention is too vital to screw up with something as stupid as trembling fingers.

Donnie swallows magma hot fury, choking guilt, and suffocating shame, and he finishes the fifth part of his plan.

He mentally crosses out the fourth part. It won’t be applicable any longer.

 

\--/--

 

Maybe it’s better like this, Mikey not continuing on as he is. If everything works out, Mikey will never have to experience any of what’s happened. Won’t remember anything at all of this future, because it will never have _existed_ once Donnie is through with things.

But Donnie still aches in his chest, eyes stinging, at the thought of leaving behind the ally he’s always had. His B-team partner, his permanent sparring opponent, his first best friend and his only little brother. Mikey, Michelangelo, the only one who will ever understand what it was _like-_ living in the shadows of their brothers and their father and being forgotten or _used_ for years and years-

He’s so sorry. He tried but he _couldn’t,_ and Donnie is so weak. A coward.

He should have done more, tried _harder,_ fixed this instead of running away and trying to erase it from existence- prevented it from ever happening to begin with- stopped it back when it began to get bad, stopped it when it began to get _worse-_ why didn’t he ever just stand up and say _they can’t do this, he wasn’t going to let them do this- why couldn’t he_ do that-

Donnie has a single little brother. He has only ever had a single little brother, and he failed miserably to protect Mikey from anything.

Donnie will carry that crime on his soul until he dies, and he’ll never forgive himself for it.

 

\--/--

 

“You still sure?” Casey asks him, as everyone starts arriving for the party. The lair is filled with their meager collection of friends, and Donnie sees a smile on every one of his brothers’ faces.

He also sees the faint bruise on Mikey’s temple, and sees that Raph is neither regretful nor apologetic of that bruise, and that Leo hasn’t done a thing about either side’s hand in the conflict.

“Yes,” Donnie says, just as Renet arrives through a flash of a portal opening. Casey stands beside him for another moment, both of them watching Mikey enthusiastically greet his friend, and then pats Donnie’s shoulder. Leaving to mingle with the partygoers until it’s time to fulfill his part of the plan.

Donnie swallows, and starts towards the center of the group where Renet is. As he passes April, she catches his eye.

She never did get back to him with a yes or no.

Well, no time to ask again now.

Donnie moves in, and starts everything in motion.

 

\--/--

 

“We’re glad to have you here, Renet,” Donnie finds himself saying as the conversation flows between them all. “We don’t get too many visitors to our home.”

Renet laughs, white teeth shown in a happy grin. “Aw, you know I’d swing by more if I could! You guys are a _riot_ , and the timekeeper’s council is like, the most drag group of people ever, I swear.”

Donnie hums, sympathetic. “Well, you’re here now, so feel free to cut loose. We’ve got no other plans besides to.”

Mikey gleefully bumps shoulders with Renet, beaming and truly meaning his smile, for once. “What Dee said! The lair is officially party central from now until we run out of cake and punch, so definitely cut as loose as you want, girl.”

As the two of them shift the conversation, Donnie finds himself taking a step closer, eyeing the short-charge time machine on Renet’s belt. If he remembers correctly, its only good for a handful of jumps. Barely one there and back. “Say… Renet? You didn’t bring your big staff this time,” Donnie says casually, directing attention to the device.

Renet laughs. “Of course I can’t haul that big ol’ thing back all this way. It’s way too dangerous for it! I’d be _so_ in shit if I lost it like, a _third_ time.”

Donnie nods agreeably. “I suppose the integrity of our timeline’s existence is more important than me getting another look at future tech, heh. Shame, I was really hoping I could see it again. I was going to use it as basis for an extra-dimensional portal design I’ve been toying with…”

Renet lights up, taking his bait. “Oh! Spoilers, you _totally_ succeed with that invention. Don’t worry, you’ll figure it out by yourself if you keep working on it, I know you can! I studied it in school after all,” She laughs, still holding back information while giving it freely at the same time. Like she always has.

Donnie nods again, sidling closer still. “Well, even if I know I will, even a genius needs a starting baseline. Think I could look at that little guy there? It’d be a big help.”

Renet gives him an apologetic smile. “Nope, sorry! Only licensed and graduated timekeepers are allowed to handle this kind of equipment.”

“But it’s my birthday,” Donnie says, demure and hopeful. “and I don’t have to _touch it._ You can do that for me. I could look at over your shoulder; no touching involved. The sanctity of your license is safe, I promise.”

Renet wavers for another moment, and then bursts out, “ _Okay,_ sure. Just promise you won’t touch it? I could get some _major, major_ trouble if my bosses found out. Like, _yiiikes_ amount of trouble _.”_

Donnie shows his hands, empty and splayed. “I swear I won’t touch it. You’re the one between us who knows how to use it right, anyway.”

“Hm, true, true…” Renet takes the little device off her belt, turning away to fiddle with the touch screen’s passcodes and thumbprint scanner. As she does, Donnie reaches to his own belt, and closes his hands around two individual pieces of slim metal.

“Now it’s really complicated in parts, but if you work hard you’ll start to understand,” Renet is saying as Donnie slips up to her from behind. “I can’t tell you the _whole_ shebang-” Donnie raises his hands to either side of Renet’s neck. “-but I doubt anyone’ll get too mad at me if I tell you just a few little details-”

Renet cuts off as the metal snaps together, sealing into a collar with invisible seams. Donnie steps back, retrieving the other item in his belt.

He presses down on the button of the controller, and says loudly, _“Don’t move, or I’ll blow your head off.”_

The whole world slows down- Mikey’s horrified eyes on him, everyone who overheard Donnie’s threat picking up that something is happening- and Donnie doesn’t let the adrenaline coursing through him make his fingers shake.

“If my finger lifts off this trigger,” Donnie says, casting a warning glance at Mikey and everyone around them. “the collar you’re wearing will detonate before anyone can even try to disarm it. You’re going to do exactly what I tell you to, and no one has to get hurt. Nod if you understand.”

Renet’s shoulders are tense, her entire posture rigid with fear, but she nods once. Mikey’s expression of horror is sliding into rarely expressed anger, teeth bared and eyes wide and his hands going for his nunchucks-

Donnie turns a dark glare on his brother. _“One move,”_ He hisses viciously. “ _and she dies. Do you want that to happen, Mikey?”_

Mikey’s hands stop just short of drawing his weapon, teeth gritting audibly. He’s shaking he’s so angry, and underneath that, Donnie sees he is also terrified.

“What, the _hell,”_ Mikey demands, and Donnie ignores those words. He instead turns his glare on everyone else in the room, leveling his open threat to Renet’s life at all of them.

Leo and Raph are at the front, hands also stopped just before drawing their weapons, and they’re giving him a mixture of outrage and horrified confusion. Beside them, April watches with calm eyes. She’d been expecting something like this, Donnie thinks. She knew he’d do something big because he told her he would.

She’s not trying to stop him, just watching the plan unfold.

Donnie shakes off the momentary fixation he has on her. There’s no time left for that.

“Casey,” Donnie says, and his friend emerges from the back of the group. Casey strides forwards, decked head to toe in full battle regalia, and he tosses Donnie’s electric staff at him. Donnie catches it with one hand, sliding it into place on his belt. Hanging from Casey’s shoulder is a small duffle of other weapons Donnie will need, but for now they’re focused on just getting through the portal before gearing up.

 _“Casey,”_ Raph says in a harsh breath, wild anger in his expression. “You- _you’re helping him?_ You’re _in_ on this shit?! _”_

Casey shrugs, rattling the sports gear strapped to his back. “Yeah, I am. Sorry Raph, there wasn’t really that many options.”

“ _The hell there weren’t-”_

 _“Donnie-”_ Leo starts to say, pushing Raph out of the way before he start a proper tirade, and Donnie turns his back on his brothers before Leo can drag him into a conversation he'll be hard pressed to break from. If he stops now, he'll fail, and get drawn back into the cycle.

He can't let that happen. He refuses.

“Open the portal,” Donnie says, putting a hand on Renet’s shoulder. She’s stiff in his grip, fear sweat beading the edges of her scarf. “Set the destination to the timekeeper headquarters, and no funny business. I don’t want to hurt you if I don’t have to.”

“ _You can’t do this,”_ Renet says in a harsh voice, fear and anger mixing together in her eyes. Donnie ignores both emotions.

“But I am,” He says in response, a low tone to his cold words. “and no one is going to stop me. Open the portal, Renet, or we’ll be seeing what the brain tissue of future humans look like.”

Renet hisses something in a language Donnie has never heard, and types in the coordinates. He glances away from her hands as she does, looking back over his shoulder at everyone else.

He meets the stares of disbelief aimed at him, letting all the confusion flow over him without acknowledgement. The portal opens as he’s still looking at his brothers- who he loves, deeply, completely, but _can’t_ _stay with any longer-_ and the glowing white light obscures everything as his eyes adjust.

Then he hears a charging cry, knows its because his siblings are taking advantage of the temporary blindness to try to stop him, no doubt running forwards with weapons drawn and intent to do whatever it takes to bring him down-

_-he doesn’t want to fight them, he doesn’t want to reach into the duffle and pull out stun grenades and throw them at his own family-_

-and then confused yells take those thundering footstep’s place, and Donnie blinks his vision back into focus.

His brothers, and all of their friends, are suspended in midair. Leo and Raph and Mikey all thrash in zero gravity, desperation and sudden fear clouding their expressions. They’re all yelling at him, at Casey, at Renet-

-at April.

She holds them there, hands hardly raised above hip level. In the burst of power, she’s broken the elastic keeping her hair back, and it floats free as she suspends everyone who might have tried to stop Donnie.

She’s looking at him, ignoring every cry aimed her way, and Donnie can’t find words to express his gratitude. For once, he looks her head on while she resembles herself from that night, all those years ago, and feels no ghost of fear.

Donnie releases his grip on Renet, holding his hand out to her.

“April…? _Please,”_ He begs, voice raw with emotion. “ _Come with us.”_

April smiles, soft and sad so, so tired.

“I can’t,” She says, voice just loud enough to carry across the space between them. April’s eyes are dry, but her voice sounds like she’s been crying. “I can’t, Donnie. I’m sorry. I’m done.”

“April, what-?” Casey says, taking a step back towards April, only to have his feet slide back to where they’d been. He casts a shocked look at their friend, and April shakes her head, giving them all another gentle psychic push towards the gaping hole in the space time continuum.

“ _Go,”_ She says, raising their friends and family higher from the ground. Their cries are getting louder, struggles harder, and Donnie sees the drip of a nosebleed starting down April’s lip. She can’t do this forever.

Donnie wants to run back, to grab her hand and pull her forwards, to convince her to _keep going,_ _keep fighting-_

But he can’t.

This is her choice. It’s April’s choice to stay, to be unmade completely.

And it breaks Donnie, deep inside himself, and his eyes burn hotly.

_“Donnie! Donnie, Casey, April- STOP IT- what are you even-!”_

_“What the HELL DO YOU THREE THINK YOU’RE DOING-!”_

_“NO!”_ Mikey screams, thrashing widly. _“NO! DONNIE PLEASE, STOP IT DON’T DO THIS- LEAVE HER ALONE-!”_

 _“GO!”_ April yells over his brothers, and Donnie finally wrenches himself out of his trance.

He grabs Renet by the back of her neck, the apprentice timekeeper snapping something at him angrily, and shoves her forwards. Casey follows a split second later, but he keeps casting looks over his shoulder as he does. Donnie can’t look back until they’re on the threshold of the portal.

When he does, the exhausted look on April’s face says everything she has to say, and Donnie forces himself to look elsewhere. He passes over Leatherhead, Slash, Rockwell and Pete and Mondo… no Karai or Shinigami, they hadn’t been able to come.

Donnie finally settles on his family, and looks up at his brothers, at the fury and betrayal and hurt confusion in their eyes. He looks at them, and tries to remember a time when they all still smiled together.

 _“Please,”_ Mikey says, voice cracking as he reaches uselessly after Donnie. “ _Don’t do this!”_

It strikingly painful to do so, but Donnie has to betray his little brother just once more, and turns his back on Mikey for a final time.

He, Casey, and Renet all jump through the portal, and Donnie tries to not hear the wretched scream that follows their descent.

 

\--/--

 

_She made her choice, and April’s choice wasn’t them._

Donnie falls for an infinity, and blames the rush of reality flying past him for the wetness that trails from his eyes.

 

\--/--

 

The main headquarters for the timekeepers is filled with people on the lower levels, but further up, where Donnie forces Renet to land them, there aren’t nearly as many.

“Give me your map,” Donnie demands, soon as he’s finished tucking all of his tools into place. It’d taken longer than he would have liked with one hand trapped holding the trigger. “I know you have one, because Mikey told me you needed it to not get lost here. Give it to me now.”

Renet glares harshly, but hands over the little white orb. It lights up with a projected map, their current location marked with a bright red X, and the cordinants of the master time sceptre marked by a digital label above its location.

He should have noticed, with all his years of training and experience, that Renet had slipped on her gauntlets.

Donnie dodges just in time, the electrical pulses of her gauntlets instead shorting out the hall lights as it demolishes a sizable hole in the wall. Renet whirls on them, apparently having found enough steel in herself to fight back even at the risk of her own life, and winds up to deliver another right hook.

But she’s hardly a frontline soldier. In swift and practiced movements, Casey knocks her punch off course, keeping momentum and swinging to deliver a gut blow with his hockey stick, and Donnie releases the trigger in his hand to clock her across the temple.

He lets the device hit the floor, the same time Renet falls, and it does so with a hollow clunk.

Donnie and Casey don’t bother with the stunned timekeeper apprentice on the ground; they just start running for their goal.

As they run, Donnie doesn’t wait to hear an explosion go off, or the sound of human bones and flesh being plastered along the walls. Because there was never going to be one.

“Can’t believe they actually bought that,” Casey comments as they sprint. “That’s gotta be one of the biggest protag bluff out there.”

“What can I say?” Donnie replies wryly as they skid around the corner, following the little holo map. “I play a good antagonist when I want to.”

Casey barks a hoarse laugh, covering how rattled he is with adrenaline and bravado. Donnie covers his own shaken core- _his brothers his home April- he left them all they’re never going back he’s going to_ destroy them- by drawing down a cowl of steely determination once more.

The halls fly past as they run, and as they make it through the sixth, an alarm begins to blare.

 

\--/--

 

Donnie’s leg screams in pain as he wraps a bandage around it. It’s a crude job, only just enough to staunch the bleeding and give his mutated regenerative abilities a chance to start the healing process.

Casey is taking pot-shots around the corner at the armed women pursuing them, using a gun they stole off one of they knocked out. But Donnie knows his friend is a lousy shot; it’s only a matter of time before someone better skilled gets lucky and hits Casey as he leans out to fire.

 _“Come on,”_ Donnie grits out, forcing himself to stand and ignores how his leg burns in agony from the injury. “They’ve got to have reinforcements coming, and we’re still- at least five minutes from the s-sceptre.”

Casey curses under his breath. He grabs one of the explosive pucks from his duffle, tapes it to the gun, and tosses it down the hall as he grabs Donnie. The explosion and yelling follow their resumed sprint, but heavy, multiple footsteps follow _that_ not even a beat later.

Donnie struggles to keep up his dead sprint from before, painful twinges going up and down his leg with every step takes. He’s slowing them down, he knows he is, and it’s going to get them both killed. Donnie’s leg muscle locks up suddenly, and he stumbles.

Casey grabs his arm as Donnie falters, and hauls him forwards without even a word. He keeps them moving, scrambling to stay at least two hallways ahead of the women pursuing them. Donnie’s sides burn from the chase, exhaustion catching up with him. Casey is panting harshly, somehow finding the extra strength to keep Donnie on his feet despite being in the same condition.

Donnie hopes to god this isn’t going to be his biggest mistake yet, getting them both killed over a fool’s errand gone completely awry.

He just wants to fix things, save his family, give them a _future_ -

They make it to the next big divergence from their current hallway network- one that branches into a completely different building- and Donnie fumbles to get the touchscreen door lock to open. It takes too long, far too long, to hack it open, and the thick shield doors into the vault wing slide away at last.

“Okay, we have just two more floors to get down,” Donnie gasps, rushing across the threshold and into the next stupidly long hallway. “If we keep our pace, and- and I guess nothing else goes wrong, then maybe we’ll-”

The words _make it_ die on his tongue as the doors slam shut behind him. Donnie whirls- _he hasn’t even touch the other controls yet, what-?_

Through the small sliver of window through the door, Donnie sees Casey on the other side. His friend takes his hand off the controls on the other side, and jerks his other arm to slide his tazer out of its sheathe in his glove.

Donnie’s fists hit the door, just as Casey slams his weapon into the controls with a shower of sparks. Frying it irreparably.

 _“NO!”_ Donnie shouts, banging uselessly on the door thicker than his arm. “Casey- Casey you _can’t-_ _don’t do this-!”_

Casey points at his ear, shrugging with a smile. _Can’t hear you, dude._ Donnie howls, beating the metal.

Casey just keeps smiling, even as Donnie yells at him to open the door, to not do this, _to not leave him alone and die like some foolhardy idiot-_

Casey glances down the hall they came from, grimacing, and starts to back away from the door. Donnie hits it again and again even though he _knows_ its useless, there’s no time to break through, no time to find another way out, _no_ _time left do anything-_

Casey shoots him one last brash, cocky smile, and his eyes burn with something unreadable. He mouths something to Donnie, just before he lowers his mask into place.

_“Can’t be both of us, Donnie. Sorry.”_

And then he’s off, throwing explosives at anything he can and making the loudest, most eye drawing distraction possible. Donnie throws himself away from the window just as their pursuers thunder past, all of them following Casey’s trail of destruction and completely losing Donnie’s in the process.

Donnie is alone in the hallway, then. Alone with the burden of sacrifices weighing on his shoulders, made for the sake of his insane plan.

In silence of the unguarded vault wing- everyone else busy chasing a mad man with bombs and intent to destroy everything he can- Donnie lets out a long, cracking scream.

It echoes back at him, mercilessly unsympathetic to the wrenching loss filling him.

His father- Splinter long dead, a confusing legacy left and no answers to anything- his brothers- Leo, Raph, _Mikey,_ they all deserved better,  deserved to _be better-_ his friends- _April_ , _Casey_ , Donnie never found words to _tell them- and-_

He doesn’t get to keep any of them.

It’s not fair. None of this is fair and has never been fair.

Donnie lets himself wrack with sobs, loss like physical agony ripping him apart inside, and then he swallows his overwhelming grief. Buries it, compartmentalizing it to focus on what’s at hand, and steps away from the wall with empty eyes and an emptier heart.

He has a goal. He has a time limit. He will not fail.

He won’t let April and Casey’s sacrifices be in vain.

 

\--/--

 

The cloak is heavy on his shoulders, and the sceptre is heavier in his hands.

Donnie stands in the heart of the most well protected vault that the timekeeper’s have, and finds it ironic that all it took to get through their defenses was a man with nothing left to lose.

What few guards remained, posted at all times to protect the most powerful time sceptre and the cloaks- Donnie learned of the cloaks from Renet months ago, her loose tongue getting away from her as she talked to Mikey, Donnie within earshot as he passed by- are all knocked out, or… disposed of.

Donnie stares at the ugly tool of power in his hands, and thinks of how selfish and callous the people who made it were. Why make something that can alter the very fabric of reality, and then deny anyone use of it when it’s really needed? What purpose does it even have, other than to sit in a locked case and show just how much power the timekeepers wield over everyone else?

It makes Donnie sick with anger.

His injuries still ache, slowing his reflexes and blurring his thought, and his heart is heavy with emptiness and new scars that will never heal. But Donnie stands straight as he lifts the sceptre, opening up its power with a thought and reaching backwards to find the century, the decade, the year, the month, the week, the day, the hour, the _second-_

And the portal opens for him, sweeping wide only feet from where he stands in the vandalized vault.

Donnie stares at its blinding brightness, eyes watering for so many reasons. After planning endlessly, losing so much, he’s done it.

Well, not quite.

There’s still work to be done, and he, ironically, holding the most powerful time altering tool in reality- is so very short on time.

Donnie breathes out softly, and steps forwards into infinity once more.

He falls, streaking through endless space with nothing and everything in it, and he leaves behind a broken future he is set on destroying completely.

As Donnie lands, barely catching himself in a stumble- he’s met with eyes nearly identical to the ones he sees every evening in the mirror, wide with shock.

Though this version of him is starkly different. Donatello, as Donnie dubs in that moment, is so very, very young in so many ways. Unscarred both physically and mentally, and unburdened from carrying the expectations and lives of his entire family on his shoulders.

This Donatello still has hope, something Donnie has long since run out of.

To pull this off, it'll be something he needs.

 _“-what’s the date?”_ He gasps out, and sets things into motion once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whew, that sure was a doozy.


	5. Chapter 5

Casey looks at his little sister’s hand, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles. Her slim fingers used to be half the size of his; her palm barely covering the center of Casey’s. She’s not a little kid anymore.

“Casey?” She asks, giving a fond but annoyed huff. “We going in or not?”

Casey glances up from his sister’s hand in his, meeting Sam’s eyes. She’s quirking an eyebrow at him, amused with her dumb big brother getting lost in his head when they should be focused on buying tonight’s dinner.

“You okay?” Sam asks, and Casey isn’t entirely sure.

He’s going to miss her like he’s never missed anyone before, likely speaking. He’ll miss his dad, and his friends, and everything, really, but… Samantha’s his kid sister. Who isn’t really a kid anymore; thirteen and all grown up, in her eyes at least.

She still lets him grab her hand when they cross the street, if it’s really bad traffic. It’s just a small thing, kinda stupid in all honesty- but it’s weirdly important to Casey. He got into the habit of holding her hand when they were younger and still toddling behind their mom on grocery trips, and just never shook it.

After everything he’s been through, and how many times he’s nearly lost Sam, he doubts he ever could want to shake the habit.

“Jeez, you skip sleeping again or something?” Sam scolds, and tugs him the rest of the way into the store. The automatic door opens and closes as they head inside, and Casey is still too far into his head to really respond. He lets Sam lead him through the aisles, headed for the deli to get a chicken for dinner and maybe some potato wedges.

Sam lets go of Casey’s hand as they reach the selections available, and his palm feels cold without hers against it. Sam talks without waiting for responses, telling him about friends at school, a movie she wants to see with them, everyday buzz that doesn’t really need a conversation partner.

Casey listens to every word, says nothing, and wonders how he’s doing this. Leaving Sam and everyone else behind.

He wonders how Donnie could purposefully be doing this; altering his family’s future so drastically they might not even be recognizable as the same people.

 _“How can you just… do it?”_ Casey remembers asking, while he and Donnie were meandering in the lab, not really working on anything. _“I mean, I kinda get it. But still. This is… a little insane. A lot insane.”_

 _“You wouldn’t understand,”_ Donnie had responded, clipped and quiet like he is lately, especially when asked about his family. _“Not everyone has what you have, Casey. You couldn’t understand even if you tried.”_

Casey had responded by starting a small bicker fight between them, if only to alleviate the weird tension Donnie’s words had left.

 _Not everyone has what you have,_ huh?

Casey looks down at his little sister- who is growing so fast, she’s already level with his shoulder and showing no signs of stopping- and lets her link their hands again as she pulls him towards the dairy section, carrying a chicken and fry box in the basket on her arm.

He looks at her, and thinks he maybe understands a little bit of what Donnie means.

Maybe he doesn’t know everything, but he’s not blind or deaf or dumb. He _knows_ things aren’t exactly perfect in the Hamato house, and he _knows_ the brothers all still hurt in a hundred different places they never talk about. Hell, not even Raph will talk to him about half the stuff they’ve been through, and a niggling thought in Casey’s head says that his friend really, really needs to. They all need to.

Sam listens to Casey, when he feels like sharing bits and scraps of what he’s seen and done- all those months in space, all the months on the farm- he appreciates her listening ear so much more now- and his dad listens, sort of, in his own ham-handed caring way. They don’t _get it_ \- and Casey doesn’t want them to- but they’re _there_ for him.

Casey knows, and only from the slip of Donnie’s rambling verbal thoughts, that no one in the lair listens like that. He’s suspect that none of them really know _how_ to.

Casey isn’t blind, deaf, or dumb. He knows there’s something wrong there, _seriously_ wrong, but he’s got no clue how to even approach it. He never has, he doubts he ever will.

Maybe this, helping Donnie do something absolutely bugfuck insane, will make up for that shortcoming.

Maybe that’s why, weeks later, he can close the door behind Donnie and fry the controls without hesitation. Maybe that resolution to do _something_ is what gives him the boost of suicidal bravery to back away from that door, the possibility of _living_ through this, and not regret it.

But can Donnie stop looking at him like that? All desperation and fear and aching hurt? It’s just not fair. That kind of expression on Donnie doesn’t belong there.

Casey hates he’s the one who’s had to put it there.

“Can’t be both of us, Donnie,” Casey says, heavy with dread and alight with determination. His friend can’t hear him, Casey knows that, but still he finds himself saying- “Sorry.”

Donnie’s eyes are bright and furious, painful betrayal stark in his expression, and that’s- that’s just plain horrible to see.

Casey hears the thunder of approaching boots, a dozen furious women hot on their tail and not in a good way- and he has to look away from Donnie. It hurts, achy and deep, but not as bad as it did to keep staring at his friend’s shattered expression.

For a sacrifice this badass, Donnie better succeed with this plan of his. Otherwise Casey will find a way to haunt the shit out of him.

“ _HEY! HEY I’M RIGHT HERE!”_ Casey shouts, and slaps a couple explosive pucks to the wall as he starts running. _“COME AND GET ME, MOTHERFUCKERS!”_

He might lose some hearing, the way the sound rebounds and shakes the corridor walls, but Casey doubts he’ll live long enough to give a damn.

Lasers score the walls as he sprints, sparing a second to jolt his skates down and under his feet- and Casey skids across the slick floors fast as he can, riding the heatwave of bombs and laser fire. The halls blend together in a rush of colors and split second decisions, alarms going off everywhere and voices yelling every time he dodges their fire- Casey’s sides heave and his heart races and he feels _alive_.

It’s been months since the last real death defying adventure, since any of them could get their shit together and have _fun_ while doing real good for someone- and Casey only regrets this isn’t something they’re all doing together, united again against a common foe and giving as good as they get. Burning adrenaline fast as they can make it, bowling down enemies like nothing- peace is what they wanted for so long, but Casey is used to this, used to risking his life and _loving_ every second of it, and-

He’s aware that this time he’s risking it and he’ll lose the gamble, and it’s- it’s-

And it’s fucking _exhilarating_ in a drunk kind of way, and considering what it’ll accomplish, Casey doesn’t think he minds too badly going out like this.

If nothing else, he hopes his other self will treat their little sister good. And be a better friend. Maybe even finally say something he should’ve mentioned ages ago, to a couple of people. If they even get to meet the second time around-

-Casey admits to himself he’s a little scared of being written out, forgotten by his best friends and never getting a chance to-

Casey sees the barrels lighting up in front of him, just as he speeds around the corner in a skidding turn, and he bares his teeth madly underneath his mask as they fire.

It burns, but in his opinion, all the worthwhile things in life do.

 

\--/--

 

“Will you come with me?” he asks, and April feels a great swell of desperation all around Donnie, resounding through his words. “Please, April?”

 _Wouldn’t you change everything if you could?_ That’s still echoing in April’s head, and she…

She knows she would, and now she knows Donnie would, too. But with him, it’s never hypotheticals, not with things that affect their family. He’s really going to find a way.

April feels… distant. Removed.

“I… I need some time to think,” she says, and pretends to not feel the tremble in Donnie’s hands.

She doesn’t want to pull away, doesn’t want to turn her back on his carefully arranged expression of neutrality- April wants to just curl up with him and be _okay_ for a while, and not think of any life changing schemes or decisions.

It hurts, to walk away, but not as deeply as it would be to _stay_ and get comfortable, and then have to walk away anyways.

April is too tired to play that game anymore, too tired to figure out how to be someone _more_ for anyone. Too tired for anything until a weapon is in her hand and another is aimed at her- and then it’s just violence and beautiful, terrible mindless survival.

April doesn’t know how to say no, or yes, or either- and still doesn’t when the time comes again that Donnie asks a second time, with Casey at his side and a bomb around one of their friend’s neck- both of them looking at her, pleading, _begging_ her- _come with us, come with me, April, please-_

And April… can’t.

She’s done. She’s exhausted and she’s finished with this. Finished with fighting.

It breaks her heart to say _no,_ and she sees it break both Donnie and Casey’s at the same time.

They still leave, though, and blessedly, they let her stay behind.

As the portal closes, April releases her psychic grip around everyone. They drop not far from the ground, startled yells and yelps, and she sways. The world is always distorted after she expends a sudden burst of power, especially when it’s on so many targets at once.

April feels so detached and tired as she stands there, nothing feels _real_ anymore and very soon nothing _will be-_ and wiping uselessly at the drips of blood coming from her nose does nothing to bring her back to full awareness.

She’s so tired, but hey… at least it’ll all be over soon.

April wonders what oblivion feels like. She’ll find out not too long from now, hopefully.

Someone is in her face- two someones, actually- demanding, scolding, furious and scared- the emotions roiling in Leo and Raph are such a mess of hurting fear, cutting betrayal- it hurts to listen to, to feel, and April pulls herself further from reality to escape the burden of those foreign feelings.

They’re almost always like that, when they’re angry at someone- all bubbling feelings made up of tens of others, none of them really caused by the issue at hand but buried problems, ones they hide even from themselves- it hurts _so much_ to look too closely, listen and feel and experience them along with her friends, and April just. Can’t.

She can’t anymore.

Someone shoves Raph out of the way, a blur of crackling fury and trembling rage- a pair of hands that grip too tightly find place in April’s lapels, and haul her close.

Oh, Mikey. Mikey, Mikey, Mikey…

“ _What,”_ He hisses, a broiling storm barely restrained, “ _the HELL did you just DO?!”_

April’s eyes find their way to Mikey’s expression, which, for once, matches the underbelly of his emotions; all teeth and sharply furious pain. He never, ever shows what he’s really feeling anymore, all smoke and mirrors so clever she doubts even _he_ can tell what’s real- and April- April-

April knows the truth, too often. It hurts.

When she’s not dulling her outer awareness, not lost in a battle, not spreading herself thinly enough she doesn’t hurt anyone with her powers and doesn’t look to closely at anyone, _not even herself-_ April sees and hears and _knows_ too many things. Bursts of _knowing_ and it hurts so badly, she doesn’t know what to do with the pain or the information.

“ _WELL?!”_ Mikey demands, shouting right into her face. There are- there are tears, prickling in the corners of his eyes, mixing with the aching rage coming off him in waves. “You, you guys-” the words stutter, cracking in his anger, “-what did you _DO?!_ Donnie- he- _Casey-_ _why did you all-!”_

His hands move upwards, maybe unconsciously, towards April’s neck, and she-

April grabs Mikey’s wrists, then his whole body with her mind, and throws him and everyone else crowding close backwards, far enough none of them can strike at her without April having time to block and return attack.

April nearly lets out a laugh, her stomach painfully clenching. Her family- _even her family-_ as strange and broken and improperly healed as they are, they’re her family- and she’s still readying herself, still _readying to fight them all._

April’s so tired of fighting, but after everything… what else does she really know how to do anymore?

“What is Donatello doing?” Leo asks, cold and crisp and acting like he’s not breaking, breaking, _breaking_ under the surface of his expression. He only uses Donnie’s name like that when he’s angry, or being a Sensei- which is often, constantly.

April hates that tone, hates that she does, hates that Leo ever became so used to using it he never _stops._

Everyone is staring at her, wary, inching towards weapons- none of them are ever unarmed, what’s _wrong_ with them?- and April feels like she’s falling right back into the static filled void she experienced, once.

April can swear she hears Za’naron’s voice in her head, whispering insecurities and temptations again like it had, until April just- _gave in,_ to make it stop, to protect herself, to just- _fall-_

She still feels like she’s falling, sometimes. She feels like she never stopped falling.

“He’s…” April says, voice dry. She’d cried, before this. Cried for hours. It didn’t change anything. “He’s fixing things.”

 _“Fixing_ things?” Leo asks incredulously. “Wh- _what_ things?”

April rubs her upper lip, tacky with blood that’s still dripping.

“ _Everything,”_ She says, and ignores the ripple of unease in everyone surrounding her. They’re all on edge, all afraid- April is tired of that second-hand feeling. “He’s going to change the past.”

“ _What-!?”_

_“That’s-!”_

_“-nd Casey-?”_

_“-insane-!”_

_“-I can’t believe-!”_

April feels like the world under her feet is shifting, uneven despite her standing still. She’s tired and relieved and light as a feather as the fever of the conversations around her reach peak. How could Donnie do this, how can they stop him, why would she _help him-?_

 _“He’s going to_ _hurt Renet,”_ Mikey says, low and half growled, and everyone talks over him like he hadn’t spoken at all. April meets his eyes, where he stands on the spot he picked himself up from- and the naked betrayal he wears is hard to look at.

It’s seeped in rage, and that possibly is even harder to look at. Black rage doesn’t sit well on Mikey’s features; unfamiliar and toxic seeming. A shame that April senses it half the time, when he’s wearing an expression of total opposition.

They’re all broken, she thinks. Broken and permanently cracked somewhere fundamental, in places that never managed to heal right, or even at all.

April hears Mikey say something else, still lost in the sea of voices pointlessly trying to figure out a plan- none of them will, Donnie was always the one who knew how to deal with these things- and April catches just enough to piece it together.

_“How… how could he do this?”_

It’s too quiet for anyone else to notice, and it’s said in a voice that doesn’t shake with anger, but shakes with betrayal that only someone you love can cause. Mikey’s anger leaves him, shoulders slumping and defeat settling in- he’s so _resigned_ to having things and people be taken away, he never- fights for them, not anymore-

April hates she notices, hates she knows the dull resignation Mikey wears, hates it exists in him, hates it exists in _her_ at times, hates and hates and hates…

April closes her eyes, and sinks silently to the floor. Her psychic awareness is being assaulted on all sides by a myriad of fear and confusion, and so she shuts it down best she can. Bit by bit, as the people she calls family wind themselves up into a hurricane of panic and anger, April closes down her senses.

She’s so tired, she’s so relieved, she’s so ready for this to be _over._

All those wars, all those fights- every time they gained ground and then lost it- every time they had to lose someone and got them back, patched up haphazardly and sent right back into the battle- every night April had to look up at the sky and wonder, _is this the night I’ll die?_

All those times, all those painful, wrenching times she and everyone around her had to suffer…

April wants it all gone.

She trusts Donnie, Casey- she trusts them to accomplish that. She trusts them to be the ones to unmake everything around her, and then even April’s own life.

She trusts them.

She misses them already.

Thick, burning tears slide down April’s nose as she bends; a kneeling, silent figure in all the chaos around her, and she’s ready. Ready for it to be over and done with.

April keeps her eyes shut, pushes people away from her whenever they stray too close, and waits.

It takes an eternity, and yet takes only seconds.

April doesn’t know which it does, as she knows no more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no comment.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> binch guess who

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a double update bc i finished it all in a single night. applaud me for this effort.
> 
> minor suicide ideation warnings for this chapter, but nothing serious or graphic.

Donnie feels… somehow serene, now.

It’s over. It’s done. He’s accomplished what he needs to, and now… his mission is complete.

All that’s left is to let the new timeline take its course, and allow himself to fade into nothingness. He doesn’t matter anymore. This isn’t his home, this isn’t his life, this isn’t-

His father, who is sitting across from him, watching and waiting and _alive-_

Donnie thought it would have been easier, seeing Splinter as he was, years ago. Still tall, still proud. Still someone who cared, at least a little. But it had been a hard thing to do regardless, meeting eyes again with the father Donnie missed and hated so much.

Donnie is now expecting to be asked to leave. He plans to anyway, but he expects his father’s other self to tell him to do so first. Donnie has just spent a very, very emotional forty-five minutes spewing every bit of toxin that ruined his life all over this Splinter’s.  Surely, the distant and removed man he remembers will tell him to get out. Will feel anger for Donnie spitting on so many things he seemed to pride himself on. That’s what the Splinter Donnie remembers would have done.

Maybe for old time’s sake, he’ll get a punishment in the dojo. Three hundred katas, no breaks. Get to it, no whining, ninjas don’t shy from hardship-

“…I will not.”

Donnie raises his head tiredly, looking at Splinter. The old rat is looking at him with solemn eyes, which reflect… regret. Shame.

What?

“I will not let it happen again, Donatello,” Splinter says, since that question was said aloud without Donnie really noticing. Donnie’s father all but bows his head, voice low and serious. “You have gone through a great deal to bring this message to me, and I can only ask that you forgive me for forcing you to do so. It was never, and will never be, my intent to harm any of my sons. The other me you speak of… I cannot imagine letting myself become him, now that you have warned me against that folly.”

Donnie is confused. There’s no anger, or even stubborn pride in his father’s posture. There is grimness, there is apology, there is _shame-_

“No,” Donnie hears himself mumble. “No, you’re- you’re not supposed to…”

Splinter raises his head again, looking at Donnie. Looking at him, and _seeing_ him, and _caring for him-_

Donnie still can’t remember when his real father last did that, last looked at him for longer than a glance and did so with compassion and _love._

“I am not supposed to what, Donatello?” Splinter asks carefully, gentle with his tone and actions. There’s a slump to his shoulders, a quietness to him- he lacks the sheer _presence_ the other Splinter had, the stiff back and detached air he tried to pass off as wisdom instead of exhausted _disinterest_ in anything but Leo and their clan-

“Aren’t… aren’t you angry?” Donnie asks, and it’s a childish question, one someone still dependant on their parent would ask, someone who isn’t Donnie and who Donnie hasn’t been in _years-_

Splinter’s eyes grow sad, sad as they’d been when Donnie railed and snapped at him, letting out the torrent of fury and betrayal and _hurt_ that Splinter caused in him.

“Only with myself,” Splinter says in a tired voice, and its sincere, he sounds sincere and he’s not looking at Donnie like the son that never managed to measure up in a fight, but looking at him as an equal, as someone he’s _listening to-_

Donnie realizes distantly, that he is at eye level with Splinter. That he’s aged, grown up, and now could very well possibly be close to the same height as his father. He feels a disjointed sense of being big and yet very small at the same time.

The driving emotions in him abruptly disappear, leaving only emptiness. Donnie feels- lost. He thought he knew what to expect, how this would end, but-

Splinter is putting a hand on Donnie’s, which are shaking in tight fists in his lap.

“I hate you, and you should hate me,” Donnie whispers, trying for the viciousness that’s come like bitter poison all night and finding none of it. Only exhaustion. His mouth feels dry as he talks. “I… I destroyed our original timeline, and- and I came back here, told you _everything_ you did wrong…”

“You sought to protect your family,” Splinter says calmly, as though it’s all that simple. “I… I do not agree with your actions, or how you have dragged your younger self into things… but I recognize that it came from a place of love, Donatello. You say you hated your brothers, but I very much doubt you would have done all this if that were true.”

It’s not fair.

This isn’t how it was supposed to go.

Splinter shouldn’t be understanding, he shouldn’t be forgiving, he- Splinter should be justifying Donnie’s actions, should be proving his points, should- should _hate him_ -

Why can’t Splinter just hate him? It would make everything so much easier.

“Donatello… I could never hate my son,” Splinter says, because Donnie is talking without filter, and that’s not fair, it’s not fair, it’s _not fair._

Donnie just- wanted closure, wanted validation, wanted all the horrible thoughts and feelings locked up inside him to have _real reason._ If Splinter had just- if his father would just _hate him_ already, then all the anger and hurt and miserable _hatred_ in Donnie would be okay, would be something he’s right to feel, would be things that he could aim at Splinter and feel _triumph_ for tearing down his and his _real_ sons’ world view-

Donnie is so tired, so angry, so exhausted and afraid, and it’s not fair, it’s not fair Splinter isn’t acting how he should, acting like a real father again- someone Donnie barely remembers, barely can imagine anymore, and it’s not fair, he wasn’t supposed to be this, he was-

“Who was I supposed to be?” Splinter asks, hand still on Donnie’s, and it’s not a shackle, it’s not a punishment, it’s a _comfort_ , and-

“You were supposed to be _him,”_ Donnie says, wretched and aching, and feeling all the confusing and painful loss he had when they’d buried _his_ Splinter, who isn’t- who might have once been, but never was again-

This Splinter, this father, who still won’t look at Donnie with the hate he deserves.

He all but killed his real family, stole away their lives as they were without so much as asking- he’s spat on everything _his_ father did for them, on everything that he and _his_ brothers survived and conquered- Donnie has cost the lives of people irreplaceable in every sense for this quest and he just can’t wrap his head around the fact that instead of demanding he leave, demanding he get away from the unburdened and untainted versions of his sons (untrue, Donnie wrecked his younger self, he knows he did, and he’s sorry, he’s so sorry, but there just wouldn’t have been any other way to be _sure_ his future would _stay gone_ ), instead of any of that-

Donnie feels himself being guided into a gentle hug, one that smells like the dusty and sometimes damp scents of the lair, of lingering incense, of the warm fur that he’s now recalling from when he was still so very small and new, tickling his cheeks and keeping his safe, a blanket of calm, a moment in time where it felt like nothing could ever hurt him, _home, it smells like home._

It’s his father, who he had thought he’d outgrown, had buried any affection for under his anguish and defensive fury; it’s Splinter a handful of years younger than when he died and he’s suddenly again someone Donnie entrusted everything to, once upon a time.

Donnie’s fingers curl into the fabric of Splinter’s robes without his permission; clutching worn fibers that make him feel like he’s being transported even further into the past. To a time when the reason he’d be hiding his face in his father’s shoulder was sorrow over a misplaced toy, or sleepy need for touch and comfort as he was carried back to bed after a nightmare. A time when he was small, and had trusted, and didn’t have the weight of his family’s lives on his shoulders and their blood on his hands.

He’s so tired. He hurts so much. He just wanted Splinter to hate him and give Donnie a clean break from everything. No more attachments, no more reasons to stay and be loyal. An _end._

He wanted those things, but Donnie still lets himself be hugged by his father for the first time in years, lets the long fingered paws run down his shell as he shakes, lets everything slow for a moment and pretends he doesn’t still hate Splinter down to his core.

It’s not fair. If Splinter could have hated him for all he’s done, then maybe Donnie could have finally extinguished the feeling of being an abandoned child who just wanted his father to love him.

 

 

\--/--

 

“What do you plan to do next, Donatello?”

That’s the question Splinter asks him, after Donnie has been graciously given time to collect himself again. He feels raw and exhausted in entirely unfamiliar ways; battle injuries and such he’s used to, having emotional breakdowns not so much.

Donnie tries to imagine some kind of future for himself, some kind of next step to take… and gets nothing.

It’s over for him. There’s nothing left to do, no remaining tasks to complete. He’s now a time anomaly, and he’s done enough damage to this version of his family as it is. He’s worn down to his marrow anyway; lying down and letting the weight of what he’s done suffocate him sounds like an easy and downright peaceful thing to do at this point.

“I don’t have any next plan,” Donnie hears himself say, thoughts somewhat taken up by other things. There are a lot of ways to potentially take care of himself, but there’s also a lot of ways each one isn’t completely full proof. And what would happen if somebody found the body of a mutant and turned it over to the right people? Donnie might not have anyone left to live for personally, but he won’t let his remains be used to reverse engineer weapons against mutants.

He’ll have to think about that later.

Splinter shifts, his tail sweeping across the floor to curl the opposite direction around him. “If I may offer… this is still your home, Donatello. You could stay with us for the time being.”

That actually makes his thoughts stutter and stop. Donnie stares at Splinter, utterly incredulous.

“You’re kidding,” Donnie says flatly before he can stop himself, “after all that? You seriously want me around here? I’m contaminating my- your sons’ futures just by being here this long. I.” He shakes his head, pained at the thought of having to deal with his ghosts around the newly altered versions of his brothers. “I should go, so everything else that follows from this point are organic choices, made without my influence.”

“I do not pretend to understand the finer details at work here, but Donatello, was the point of your journey not specifically to influence their lives? For the better no less.”

Donnie rubs his face. “Killing someone for them and then throwing a bunch of warnings around is one things. Staying here and being an active part of their lives for the _rest_ of their lives is quite another. I…” He swallows. “I don’t belong here anymore. This isn’t my lair, and they’re not…”

Splinter’s careful hand on his shoulder is still something that startles Donnie, dredging up memories he’d fought to bury. “This will always be your home,” Splinter says to him, gentle but firm, “and they will always be your brothers. Time and age does not so easily erase a familial bond.”

 _What about time and space?_ Donnie wonders.

“Rest the day, at least,” Splinter offers again, squeezing Donnie’s shoulder lightly. “Tomorrow night perhaps things will be clearer to you.”

Donnie fears that if he lies down on the futon Splinter is not doubt intending for him, he’ll never rise again. And maybe that would be the better option in things.

Donnie shifts, a little uncomfortable with Splinter’s touch and his own mixed feelings, and feels the silver cloak still around his shoulders shift as well. At that, he remembers why he’s worn the stupid thing all night, and what it represents.

“…I’ll consider it,” he says, already thinking of a different choice he’ll likely choose to make.

Splinter seems to accept that, and releases Donnie’s shoulder. Where his paw had been, Donnie’s scales buzz with sensations still partially remembered from what feels like forever ago. He pushes them away, burying them back where they’d been before.

“If you have nothing else you wish to speak to me privately about…” Splinter says slowly, “then it is time I attended to your other self and his brothers, Donatello. Tonight has no doubt been… hard on them.”

Donnie almost scoffs. _Hard_ is one way of putting it. _Traumatizing_ is the more accurate label to slap on the experience. He knows his younger self can handle it, will be able to take the knowledge he’s been given of the future and put it to something productive- after all, that’s what Donnie himself would have done. And for better or worse… at their base, they’re the same person still.

He hopes for his younger self’s sake, that this time around Donatello gets more support, more recognition, an actual functioning _family_ to catch him when he stumbles. After what he’s done, sacrificing his naivety and innocence almost a year before Donnie had to, Donatello will deserve it.

“Yeah, I’m done,” Donnie says, standing up. His leg doesn’t twinge as badly as it has all night, the wound soothed by actual medical attention. It’s yet another thing on top of the mixed feelings pile.

Splinter stands as well, and for lack of better things to do, Donnie follows him back towards the dojo’s door. Now that he’s had his fill of turbulent conversations and breakdowns, Donnie supposes it’s only fair he gives the actual children of Splinter their father back.

And like Donnie should have expected, said children topple inwards as their father slides the screen door to the side; Leo on the bottom of the pile, likely having taken charge of the eavesdropping mission, Raph and Mikey in the middle, probably due to them both jostling to get closer at the same time, Donatello hanging back with a pensive look on his face, no doubt wary of getting closer to Donnie again, and-

And April.

Donnie’s world suddenly becomes drained of color and sound, locking eyes with the fifteen-year-old self of the woman he fell in love with.

She’s still dressed in ordinary clothes, not yet having forsaken them in favor of athletic jumpsuits. Her face still has a hint of baby fat that was eaten away by stress and training in the future. There’s a dozen tiny scars missing from her skin all over her exposed hands and face, and Donnie is struck by just how _young_ this April truly is.

She carries no hidden weapons, holds herself like an awkward teenager instead of a trained predator; she looks at him as a curiosity and surprise in her already unusual nightlife, and is no longer the dangerous woman and dear friend Donnie knew.

She isn’t his April, and with any luck, she won’t ever be.

“Whoa, they weren’t lying,” she says, staring up at him- she’s _small_ like this, petite and downright _normal_ without lean muscles and barely contained powers. “I mean- believed Donnie when he said you were, um. But it’s a lot to take in, right?”

Donnie is aware he should be answering, probably, and not staring at her with blank, static filled thoughts. It’s Donatello and Leo moving themselves slightly in front of her, putting a subtle but pointed barrier in place to protect their friend, that finally jerks Donnie out of his haze of grief, loss, and regret.

He never told her straight out, not properly, not how he wanted to. It was implied so many times over they just… never got around to it.

And now there’s no chance of that. Not with April, not with anyone.

But for Donnie, that’s a good thing. His place isn’t to remain here, assuming a life that isn’t his anymore. His place is to offer knowledge and prevent tragedy.

Which is why he’s got a USB in his belt, that he’s finally recalling the purpose of, and fumbling quickly with numb fingers to get it out.

“April- I- your father, he’s still missing, there’s been so much going on I nearly forgot-” He gets out the USB, and ignoring the wary way his- the echoes of his brothers stare at him, startle at his sudden movement forwards- Donnie pushes the tiny piece of tech into April’s un-calloused hands, not yet warrior strong or flecked with blood.

“This is his location and a map of the facility,” Donnie says in a rush, and April’s eyes widen. “I made- I made a plan for you all, one that’ll be effective in about a week’s time, enough time for you all to prepare and get all the pieces together, and-” He cuts himself off, finding himself shaking and his eyes beginning to sting.

“And I’m so sorry I couldn’t have done this sooner, the first time around,” Donnie manages to get out, and then takes his hands away from hers. Where her fingers met his, everything burns.

As April’s eyes remain wide, her mouth open in surprise and half formed words bubbling from her, and everyone around her gets loud with exclamations and questions and general chaos-

Donatello looks at Donnie, over the heads of his siblings, an arm raised to nearly touch April’s arm but not quite closing the distance- and with a solemn expression, eyes filled with a mix of wary fear and gratitude, he nods once and mouths _thank you._

Donnie nods curtly, and then feels what little energy was left keeping him up drain away. He knew he needed to get one more thing done, probably, and had been unconsciously keeping himself on edge still. Now, everything is truly complete.

Donnie’s job is over, and thus, his time is nearly up.

The clock was always counting down on him. Donnie just stretched the seconds long as he needed to, and now…

He vaguely listens to the past versions of his family as they talk around him, everything slipping away bit by bit. Donnie feels fuzzy as he walks down the steps of the dojo’s jutting stone platform, like he’s just dropped a heavy weight that’s been keeping him grounded for so long, and now he’s starting to float away.

Distantly, he hears Splinter requesting Donatello to verify the contents of the USB. Distantly, he hears voices that could be aimed at him, but don’t penetrate the fog descending on Donnie enough for him to react. Distantly, he feels his own fingers touching the clasp keeping the silver cloak around his body.

A presence close to his person breaks the fog for a split second, and Donnie looks down at the foot that’s accidentally caught the edge of his cloak.

“Oops, sorry bro,” Mikey says quickly, getting off the hem. While everyone else is still closer to the dojo- Leo, Donatello, Splinter and April, all crowding as Donatello boots up his hastily retrieved laptop- Mikey and Raph seem to have chosen to follow Donnie’s wandering path.

Donnie looks down at the brother he’d left behind, had failed in so many ways, and sees only the bright optimism and often mischievous curiosity Mikey once possessed. And does so still, here and now.

No shadows, no mask of happiness, no sense of underlying distrust even towards his own family. Mikey, how he used to be. How he should be. How he is.

“Can I try it on?” Mikey blurts, after Donnie fails to respond to his apology, eyes on the sweeping fabric of Donnie’s cloak and the way it shimmers in the right angle of light.

“ _Mikey,”_ Raph hisses, eyes darting to Donnie with suspicion and unease, raising his hand to smack his younger brother, “we already talked about _not botherin’ him-”_

Donnie’s hand shoots out, snatching the wrist of someone who was once his older brother, now someone he towers over and glares down at.

“Don’t hit him,” Donnie hears himself say, nearly drowning in the barrage of memories when he _didn’t_ stand up, when he _didn’t_ say no, when he _didn’t catch this fist and say,_ “You can’t do that to him.”

The room is suddenly silent, and the noise in Donnie’s head is so very loud.

He tightens his fingers around Raph’s wrist, bile in his throat. “I won’t let you.”

Donnie finally looks, then, at not the raised hand, but at the face of the person he’s nearly threatening.

The teenager he’s got the wrist of, held up at angle that’s probably uncomfortable, if not a little painful, is looking at him with an unnerved expression. Green eyes ever clashing with his red mask and oddly enough, no sign of an oncoming rage. Just confusion, just faint fear.

It’s not Raph. It is but it isn’t. It’s not _his_ Raphael, and god forbid… he won’t ever be.

This is just a young kid who hasn’t learned how to control his strength yet, hasn’t been guided by someone who knows where the line is and when to draw it. This isn’t Donnie’s brother, gnarled and knotted by stress and losses and poorly handled emotions. This is a kid who’s made a mistake and just… needs to learn from it. Learn from all of them, the right way this time.

Donnie lets go of Raph’s wrist.

“Sorry,” he says, stepping back; running a hand down his face and trying to push away all the assaulting memories in his mind. He shakes his head, and vaguely knows that all eyes and focus have come to rest on him again. “I’m sorry, I just…” Donnie doesn’t have the words, and can’t explain why a single reprimanding gesture from one brother to another set him off like that. Not without poisoning this Raphael’s future and his chance to _not_ be that person.

Raph backs up, too; offended by being stopped, caught off-guard by the whole exchange, and probably a little scared despite himself. Donnie can’t find words to soothe those reactions, and doesn’t think any he offered would be understood anyway.

 _It’s not your fault,_ he doesn’t say, _it’s just that you’re just enough like him it’s painful._

“Here,” he says instead, and unclasps his cloak. “You can have it, actually,” Donnie says to his little brother, his one and only younger sibling. Whose eyes are clear and blue and so _open_ with how he’s feeling; trusting, at least a little, even now, even after seeing how Donnie reacted.

_We’re the B-team; we gotta stick together, right?_

Donnie holds out the cloak, those words and all their variations ringing in his ears.

Towards the dojo, Donnie hears his younger self gasp.

“You sure?” Mikey asks, clearly uneasy with how things have lead up to him being given the gift.

“Positive,” Donnie replies, and it only hurts a little to smile.

As Mikey takes the gift, removing it entirely from Donnie’s person, Donnie lifts his eyes to lock them with Donatello. Donatello, who is abandoning his computer and any explanation he could offer for that action, who is leaping across the pool between the overhanging platform and the ground floor of the lair, who just _doesn’t understand_ why Donnie is doing this.

Donnie smiles, feeling pleasantly empty. He’s done everything he can for their future, given up every part of himself conceivable- why not give up this last part to fulfill a single, simple, childish request? To Mikey, he owes him this much.

“Mikey- Mikey _no,_ give it back, he needs to have it on!” Donatello is shouting, grabbing at the silver fabric and yanking. Mikey resists, squawking in indignation about having his gift stolen so soon from him, and Donnie takes the chance to move away from them. It’s too late, anyway. Even just a blip of his presence would have been enough.

The lair’s dim interior is lit up brilliantly, three separate rectangles of light opening a few inches above the floor. Wind sweeps through, picking up the silver cloak Mikey wears and the tails of masks Donnie and all the other mutant turtles in the room have donned.

Out from the portals, women in futuristic armor march out. Guns and staffs at the ready, expressions grim and damning. With them, Renet emerges; a mixture of sorrow and determination on her features.

Nearby, Mikey whispers, “Oh shit.”

“Donatello,” says Renet, center of the timekeeper battalion.

“Renet,” Donnie greets calmly.

She lifts her chin, eyes stormy. Her words are clipped and without trace of the cutesy slang she enjoys using. “You are under arrest for crimes against the timekeepers, as well as the sanctity of time itself. Surrender peacefully, or we will take you by force.”

Donnie splays his hands, gesturing around himself. “I’ve accomplished everything I wanted to, so no need for the dance and show. The only thing I’m concerned about is if you even have cuffs in my size-”

Donnie cuts off at that, distracted by an impact against his side. He feels fabric bunching up against his scales and shell, and looks down to see Mikey’s desperate expression.

“I’m sorry, take it back, take it back,” Mikey says, shoving the ridiculous garment at Donnie like it’ll make the timekeepers leave. “I didn’t know this’d happen, I just- I just wanted to try it on, that’s all, I’m sorry, fuck I’m sorry-”

“Hey, no, it’s okay, Mikey. It’s alright,” Donnie says, taking his brother’s hands. He stoops a little, compensating for their height differences. “I knew what would happen if I gave you my cloak, it’s not your fault. I was going to take it off anyway.”

He tries to smile, pushing the cloak back at Mikey. “This is yours now; I’m giving it to you. They’re not allowed to take it from you, and I… I don’t need it anymore.”

Mikey looks stricken, unsure of even what’s going on, but at least certain _he doesn’t like it,_ and Donnie is so sorry this will be part of what he leaves behind.

“That is property of the timekeepers-” starts one of the older women of the veritable platoon, and Donnie turns towards her to snap, “And I’m saying it’s _not_ anymore! I know your rules- you’re not allowed to change the past, even if it meant retrieving something important. That’s why you always had me and my brothers do your dirty work, huh? It’s because you _can’t,_ and you needed people actually from the timeline to move the pieces across the board for you. Or I guess _be_ the pieces, you egotistical, self-righteous bitches.”

Guns are raised at him, oh how surprising- but what _is_ something that surprises Donnie is someone jumping in front of him. And then another, and another, and another…

“You guys didn’t knock,” Raph says, spinning his sais and baring his teeth, “that’s pretty fuckin’ rude of you. We might not have a door, but you could at least make an effort.”

“Guys, _please,_ get out of the way,” Renet says, sounding like she’s trying to appeal to them still as a friend, but it’s pointless when no one but Donnie still remembers her.

“I would ask that you remove yourselves from our home,” Splinter says, and _there’s_ the Sensei Donnie remembered, had hated, had loved- a towering presence of tranquil power, the ability to cut down anyone in his way starkly clear but so rarely used. “If you do not leave peacefully… we will escort you out accordingly. I will not tolerate strangers coming to my doorstep and threatening my family.”

Leo’s swords glint in the light of the portals, while Donatello’s staff extends a long shadow across the floor as he holds it ready. April’s tessen makes a barely audible noise of metal sliding across metal as she opens it, and the jade cane Splinter always carries makes a conclusive impact against the stone floor.

As Mikey takes out one of his nunchucks, stuffing the cloak under his other arm, Donnie finally processes what’s happening.

After everything he’s done, after how he’s turned their entire world upside down, after how many times he’s shown just how _wrongly_ he fits into this family that is still a family- they’re willing to defend him, claim him as _theirs_ still.

Though there remains one person missing, Donnie is surrounded and protected by his family, for the first time in ages. And _feels_ protected for it, not just out of clan loyalty, or necessity to keep their team intact- but out of true and genuine familial care.

Even as the timekeepers demand them to surrender him, even as the wind whips across the room and sweeps years old dust up with it; even as some part of Donnie aches at finally having this again, finally being _home_ with the unbroken versions of who his family should have been…

He smiles to himself, and feels a sense of readiness.

His time is up.

“It’s okay,” he says, pushing gently through the blockade in front of him, “I’m surrendering without a fight.”

The time mistresses remain defensive towards him, but he notes fingers are lifted off their triggers. Donnie ignores the protests of his family, only pausing briefly to meet the eyes of his younger self one last time.

Donatello looks tense, cautious of what else Donnie might unload onto him. Donnie doesn’t resent the tenseness, and is apologetic of its root cause.

Someone has to bear it, bear all the knowledge of how things could have gone. It sucks, but it’ll have to be them.

But Donnie doesn’t have anything more of that to pass off onto Donatello. The only things he has left are…

He reaches up and undoes the knot of his mask. Taking the collapsed metal bo staff from his belt as well, he holds them out to Donatello.

“Take care of them,” Donnie says, pressing the weapon and strip of fabric into the free hand of his younger self. A gift, and an oath.

Donatello hesitates for a split second, and then closes his fingers tightly around the staff and mask.

“I will,” Donatello swears.

Donnie nods, and smiles. And with that… it’s over.

Raising his hands into the air, empty and loose, Donnie walks towards the timekeepers and their guns. Immediately, two of the tallest and broadest approach him; meeting Donnie halfway to yank his arms down and cuff his wrists.

“Oh, so you do make them in my size,” he comments snidely, since the rough treatment is really quite pointless. What do they want him to do, surrender _more?_

“Where is the sceptre?” demands Renet, and Donnie rolls his eyes.

“In m- in his lab,” he says, jerking his head towards the open sliding doors. “It’s inside the biggest grey cabinet, you can’t miss it. Kind of looks like a big burrito wrapped up in plastic.”

“ _Go,”_ instructs Renet to a pair of time mistresses closest to her. As they do, she looks back to Donnie, mouth in a thin angry line.

“This wasn’t how this was supposed to have happened,” she says, and Donnie hates her for ever pretending to really be their friend.

“Tough shit, it’s how it _will_ happen, because I’m making it,” Donnie replies acidly. He leans towards her, straining in the hold of the older timekeepers. “And you can’t do a damn thing about it. Those guys over there? My younger self especially, they’ll _never_ help you with anything now. I made sure that Donatello knew all about you people, and just how conceited and dangerous you are. If you even _try_ to alter this timeline, get cozy with my family and string us all along again…” He sneers, finally finding the bitter rage that had deserted him. “ _He’ll_ stop you, and you’ve all gotten pretty well acquainted with how far any version of me is willing to go in order to protect his family. So there, Renet. See how well you can manipulate my family _now.”_

Rennet flushes red, eyes glossy with hurt anger, and Donnie doesn’t give a damn. A beat later, and one or both of the timekeepers restraining him hit him over the head.

“ _Stop it!”_ is what he woozily hears someone yell. Mikey, he thinks. Other voices calling for them to release him, back off, _or else…_

Donnie smiles to himself, skull aching, but warm for the last few seconds of care he’ll ever receive from his family.

“We have the sceptre,” says someone, entering his vision to place the wrapped bundle into Renet’s hands. It clashes wonderfully, a dirty tarp dug out of a filthy drawer against her spick and span timekeeper’s apprentice uniform.

“Take him away,” Renet orders, and Donnie feels himself being dragged along. At the last moment, before he’s hauled through the portal, he manages to glance over his shoulder.

Clustered together, he sees his brothers, his father, and one of his best friends. Their eyes all on him, every single pair of them filled with rejection of his arrest.

But, they’re standing united, shoulder to shoulder, unbroken and unbowed. And if this works, if all of this results in a brighter future where that strength and love is never dimmed or cracked…

Then this has all been worth it.

Donnie feels one last surge of emotion for them all, a love that for once doesn’t have a hundred little pains attached to it, and turns away from his family.

No, not his. Donatello’s.

As it should be, and will remain so.

The portal envelops Donnie in white light, then the whirling darkness and colors of infinity, and he lets go of any resistance left in him.

In a way, he finally feels at peace.

 

 

\--/--

 

Donnie spends long hours after that, after meeting his other self, after _killing people_ and crossing the line- staring numbly at the silver staff and worn purple mask.

Sometimes he locks the items in a drawer, sometimes he refuses to think about them for days at a time. Sometimes he can’t figure out how to put them down, sometimes they’re set somewhere within his sight no matter where he moves. A reminder, a warning, an oath and burden.

A promise.

_Take care of them._

His brothers try to draw it out of him, more of the information Donatello passed onto his shoulders. They ask their father, too, what the clearly omitted details of the story are. Donnie looks towards his father during those times, and sees in Splinter’s eyes that he _knows._

Donatello told him, obviously. Donnie had managed to hold his siblings back from eavesdropping at the screen doors long enough the worst of it was unheard, but he still caught the tail end of Donatello’s rant at Splinter. And so did all his brothers and April.

Leo saw the intensity and odd behavior Donatello aimed at him, the first time they met, and everyone was witness to how Donatello reacted to Raph attempting to cuff Mikey’s temple for the intrusive request he’d made. Donnie’s siblings aren’t as smart as him, but they’re not stupid. They _know_ something had been wrong with their future selves, their future relationships, but… Donnie and Splinter, for the moment, remain mute about just what.

But, things are changing. Slowly but surely, changing.

They don’t physically hit each other anymore- not like that, not in anger, or frustration- and the last time Raph snapped and lost his temper, Donnie found the voice to stand up and say he was out of line. And for once, he was listened to.

But it had hurt, the brief flash of unnerved emotion in Raph’s eyes, as he no doubt compared Donnie to his former future self in that moment. _You can’t do that to him. I won’t let you._

Regardless, Raph had still lowered his fist, and mumbled an apology to Donnie and everyone else. It had just been over Leo and Mikey tripping each other up getting into position for some shared television, and sent their plates of chips and dip flying onto Raph in his beanbag. It wasn’t a fight that even warranted fighting in the first place.

It had been a first step, though.

Donnie catches Raph alone, sometimes. Looking pensive and thoughtful, staring at space or his hands; sometimes after a brief squabble, sometimes just because it’s a night for deep thought. Donnie wants to think it’s good for his brother to contemplate his own actions, and hopes his assessment is correct.

And Leo and their father… Donnie can tell there’s a difference in tone, how his brother and team leader is treated. He thinks, and hopes, that the new message Splinter is trying to pass onto Leo is that family comes first, honor second. That they’re brothers before teammates.

Donnie sees Leo, witnesses their sometimes too proud older brother, trying to be a bit less by the book, requesting and asking of them things instead of ordering. He hadn’t been anywhere near the level of controlling Donatello had described _his_ Leonardo, but nonetheless, Donnie still sees a difference between before and now in his brother. And Leo’s happier, Donnie thinks, being able to unwind a little and be just their brother instead of their leader.

There’s a difference in how Leo and Raph treat Donnie, how they treat Mikey, and there’s a difference in how Splinter treats _all_ of them. In how he handles Raph’s short fuse and difficulty with impulse control, in how he handles Leo’s need to impress and succeed, sometimes over others. Clearest of all it’s in how Mikey lights up to have their father genuinely interested in what he’s up to that night, what he’s concocting in the kitchen _this_ time, how he’d feel about getting a little one on one time in the dojo for meditation or sparring practice…

Donnie thinks Mikey kept the cloak, squirreled the silver garment into the recesses of his room. But Mikey never speaks about it, about the inadvertent exposure he caused Donatello, and Donnie hasn’t felt like he should ask yet. Maybe someday, when the wound has settled for all of them.

Donnie receives his own offers, his own special attention from their father, something he realizes sadly that he’s unaccustomed to… but he tends to decline, more times than not. It’s… strained, sometimes. Being with his father. He’s still processing so many things that have changed; in him, in his world, in his family… and while Donnie appreciates the gesture, he needs time still.

It’s enough, though, to have the perspective of watching everything slowly shift to a different axis, and know they’ll be better for it.

They rescued Kirby O’Neil a while ago, speeding up the set plan Donatello had made by about three days- and Donnie, having scoured the USB he had an exact copy of in one of his desk drawers, discovered Donatello had accounted for that, too. April is, for so many obvious reasons, the happiest she’s been in months.

Donnie’s heart does a weird skitter in pulse rate every time she smiles at him, still coming down to the dojo for training. And not just for training, but to actually _hang out_ with them all. Her father too, most nights, unwilling to leave his daughter alone or be alone himself. Donnie watches this strange and bizarre person in his home, this _actual adult human_ sitting on his couch in slacks and a button up shirt, and it’s as weirdly nice as it is having April genuinely want to be their friend still, even after her father was rescued.

Kirby is nice. He’s a little nervous at times, easy to startle with basic ninjutsu and normal mutant turtle behaviors, but he’s someone Donnie decides he likes. Especially since Donnie is quietly still harboring an insane and somewhat dumb notion that he might someday get a chance to date Kirby’s daughter, and… for the first time in Donnie’s lifetime, Splinter has company besides chaotic teenagers.

Even if Donnie is feeling all sorts of miserable tangles of mixed emotions right now about his family, about his father- he’s still happy to see Splinter have a friend. Or at least conversation partner, since the two adults really only have their kids and the Kraang’s effect on their lives in common.

Donnie feels this isn’t at all how the other timeline went. That they’d probably spent another long while tracking Kirby down, interrupted by fighting off attacks by the Shedder and his soldiers. That the balance of Donnie and his brothers’ relationships kept tipping, becoming further lopsided and unhealthy.

But in this timeline, that hasn’t happened, and Donnie won’t let it.

So even if he wakes up shaking in the middle of the day, even if he flinches at nothing and obsessively observes interactions, even if his brothers sometimes look at him, really _look,_ like they’re seeing changes in Donnie or hints at him becoming like Donatello, someone who’d come into their world and knocked it clean sideways and just about terrified Donnie straight through his heart…

Even if all that, Donnie feels it’s all worth it. For the chance of a brighter future, without the oppressive weight of constant battles and potential deaths and love that’s just not enough to make up for everything else anymore.

So, he sits and stares at the staff and mask some nights, some days, and wonders if each move he makes is the right correction to their timeline, praying that they are. And hopes to every guiding force there is… that it’ll all work out.

(And, wonders just who the hell Casey is.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> who the hell is casey? well, i assure you, donnie does find out in the future. and has oh so many mixed feelings about this awful teenage human who can't stop won't stop being a total nuisance in his life.
> 
> (they become buddies in the end, obvs. who do you take me for?)


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> more trigger warnings about suicidal ideation in this last chapter here. donnie isn't in a very good place at the moment, but i promise that's not how i leave it.

Donnie is unsurprised by the swift trial. _Acts of terrorism, formulation and execution of plans for breaking and entering, destruction of property, theft of property, acts of assault and murder, chronocide of a functional and healthy timeline and of all the lives within it, blah blah blah…_

It’s nice when the time mistresses get tired of him mouthing off in the courtroom, and just sentence him to life in prison (technically, he’s got _four_ life sentences on his head, and feels just  _so_ special for that).

Turns out, the timekeepers have a _lot_ of people committing crimes worthy of their inter-dimensional justice system, and Donnie is a little impressed by the sheer bulk of prisoners he sees as he’s brought in. Glancing around, he can already begin to spot weak links in the security of the place and think up at least a handful of plans of escape.

Not that… he really feels like escaping. It’s just habit by now. In all honesty, at least being in super max prison for inter-dimensional criminals will give him something to occupy his time with. Donnie has no reason left to keep fighting, and no one to get back to. He is aimless, exhausted, and possibly very depressed.

If he’s going to off himself at any point, even just out of boredom with being an inmate, then he’ll need a plan that won’t fail. Wouldn’t want to end up on a suicide watch and lose even _that_ little bit of freedom.

But, however little reason he’s got to live, Donnie isn’t in a hurry to get rid of his own existence at the moment. It’d just been because he was a loose end, trailing poison through the clean stream of timeline he’d helped create. As horribly tempting it had been to just say _yes,_ that he’d stay, that he’d take advantage of the chance to be with the family he remembered once again… he’d known it would just ruin something, or someone, in some way.

Donnie passed a lot of blame off onto his brothers and father and the Shredder, spinning the tale of how dark their future became. But, in truth, he knows he’s just as broken and jagged as any of them, and has been made only worse for the trauma of getting the timeline reset.

Staying would have only hurt the futures of that family, and Donnie… doesn’t know if he could have stayed even if he’d been that selfish. Staring at the faces of his brothers who he abandoned, essentially murdered, of his friend who he’d let fall, missed the signs of how tired and desperate she’d become, of his father, who he resented and needed and probably wouldn’t ever be able to hold a civil conversation with without breaking down.

No, that would have all been painful enough to drive him insane. More insane than he probably is, anyway, for having come up with this plan and actually _gone through with it_.

But as he’s shown into his cell, the electronic cuffs disengaged from his wrists and taken away, Donnie is aware of how limited his options are becoming. Looking around the cramped and bleak room- which contains a bed, a toilet and sink, a tiny window on either wall barred with thick metal- Donnie feels calm as he evaluates his potentials.

It’s very simple now. Live, carry out his sentence, and die of old age within the walls of a prison without any further drama. Or, escape, wander aimlessly, and see if there are any good causes or crusades lying around to get killed for. Or he could just find a way to off himself, which wouldn’t be too hard. He’s a very creative genius, you know.

Donnie thinks he ought to be disturbed by how all of his vague plans right now involve his death, immediate or eventual, but he is numb to the thoughts, numb to the residual pain of saying goodbye to the healthy and hopefully happy versions of his family.

For now, he chooses to lift himself up onto the bed jutting from the wall as the crackling energy door is turned back on; his escorts marching away in their heavy boots and silver head scarves. Donnie brings his jumpsuit clad knees up to his chest, finally giving into the childish need to curl up and tuck all his limbs close to himself; the closest his instinctual desire to pull them all _inwards_ can get to being a reality.

He finds it so oddly funny that even in this high tech, super advanced dimension… they still make their prisoners wear orange jumpsuits with numbers on the back. _If it ain’t broke,_ Donnie muses blackly.

And as though a dam is breaking, his moment of stillness allows everything he’s done in the few days to catch up with him. The crushing weight of his actions nearly suffocates Donnie, all at once filling his insides with molten guilt and stabbing bolts of grief. They’re _gone_ , he saved his brothers and his father and all his friends but they’re _gone_ , the versions he knew, the versions he grew up with, the versions he hated and loved in equal measure and in the end _abandoned and destroyed…_

He is so very alone, having done all those terrible, horrible, completely and painfully necessary things. There is nothing left for him, and nothing left _of_ him. Donnie is an empty husk, a remnant of a wretched timeline, an anomaly in so many ways and very, very tired of all that.

His future is as hollow and pointless as he is, and Donnie wishes that the moment he next falls asleep, that he never wakes again to this existence without purpose, without tether, without any reason to hold onto it and no person left to care for…

Donnie built his whole identity around being a caretaker and protector of his family. He’s given his younger self the chance to be something other than that, but Donnie is set in his ways. Without his family, without a single person left, with his tasks all complete… what reason does he have to live?

“Hey, neighbor. They give you your welcome care package yet?”

Donnie stares at the floor for several long seconds, brain stuttering to a complete halt.

“’cause, you see, I kinda used up all my soap already. Someone bled all over me an’ the fine ladies running this establishment won’t gimme a new jumpsuit until the next order comes in.”

“No fucking way,” Donnie says, utterly disbelieving of the drawling voice coming from the cell next to him.

“Now that’s no way to treat your new cell neighbor, refusing to share even a little.”

“You son of a bitch,” Donnie says, scrambling to stand up and look through the window between their cells.

“I’ll have you know my mom was an upstanding woman of firm morals,” Casey says, grinning at him through the small opening.

Donnie shoves his large fingers through the thick bars, connecting with Casey’s slim ones, and just like that the bleakness of his existence drains away.

“ _How?”_ Donnie asks, a little choked up.

“Turns out, the timebitches prefer it if you live to stand trial,” Casey explains, clutching Donnie’s hand best he can with the bars in the way. He turns his head, bringing to Donnie’s attention a large patch of burn scarring that takes up the left side of his skull and some of his face. It’s still flared painful red, but close to healed in a way that is probably owed to future technologies. “Got me good in a lot of places ‘sides there, but hey, I’m still kicking. I think it looks badass anyway.”

“They cut your hair,” Donnie observes stupidly with a ridiculous grin.

“I know, it sucks.”

“It looks _awful.”_

“Says the guy with a black eye the size of a grapefruit. The hell did you piss off for that one?”

“People don’t like it when you interrupt very, _very_ loudly for the twentieth time in the middle of a major prosecution. And then spit on their special book when taking an oath.”

“Wow am I sad I missed watchin’ _that_ go down,” Casey says, shaking his freshly buzzcut head. “Damn, Don, I leave you alone for a few days and you get your ass beat up and sent to jail.”

“ _You’re_ in jail, dipshit. You got here _first,_ ” Donnie counters.

“Yeah, but only ‘cause I was causing an amazingly heroic distraction to save your shell. The dopest final blaze of glory ever attempted.”

“I’m still mad at you for that, what the fuck- a _blaze of glory_ , seriously? We were supposed to go _together_.”

“Be mad, it was an awesome blaze of glory. And it worked out great, didn’t it?” Casey sobers for a moment. “It did, right? We didn’t… do it all for nothin’, right?”

Donnie thinks of the promises his younger self gave, that Splinter gave, of the new paths in their lives opened up by the death of the Shredder and the pending rescue of Kirby O’Neil…

And nods, smiling through the ache and swelling relief. “Yeah, it worked. I think we got it right. They’ve… they’ve got real a chance now.”

“Thank god,” Casey says, letting out a gust of breath and leaning his forehead on the window’s edge. “I was gonna be real pissed at you if it didn’t.”

“Me too,” Donnie says, putting his own forehead to the top edge of the window, smiling as Casey gives a huff of laughter. Donnie’s managing to keep calm, but inside he’s whirling with too many emotions to process. It’s over, their world is gone, they’re in jail, and there’s nothing and no one out there in the multiverse left for them to call _home,_ but… he’s not alone.

Donnie is so, so unbelievably grateful not to be alone.

 _If you ever try killing yourself like that again, I’ll kick your ass,_ is what Donnie means to say. But what comes out is, “God I’m so glad you’re not dead.”

“Me the fuck too,” Casey mutters. “That shit _burns,_ you know?”

“That means you were heading the wrong direction,” Donnie says, and thinks his eyes are burning, too.

“That’s where the party’s at anyway, right? Fine by me,” Casey says with a shrug, but the gesture is only conveyed by their fingers shifting as he moves his shoulders. Donnie finds him tightening his grip on what little of Casey’s hand he can reach, and is relieved when Casey does the same to his.

“Can we not… you know, throw ourselves into the jaws of death for a while?” Donnie asks, maybe pleads, because if he lost anyone else, if he lost Casey a _second_ time… he probably really would go insane.

“As long as you don’t come up with any other crazy schemes for a few days, I think we’ll be good,” Casey replies dryly, but his humor is somewhat thwarted by the dark circles Donnie is noticing beneath his eyes. The gauntness in his face that can only come from loss and grief.

Donnie hasn’t slept well either, haunted by his waking deeds and the life stories he’s the sole carrier of now. He wonders, vaguely, if their individual issues will worsen from exposure to each other, or ease in severity from understanding and comfort.

Donnie can’t wonder about’at for long though, too busy being happier than he’s probably been in months.

“I’ll promise if you promise,” Donnie says, and really wishes there weren’t a wall between them. He could use a hug right now, after everything they’ve been through.

“Deal,” Casey agrees, a little breathlessly, and the way he forces his slim wrist a little further between the bars to properly hold Donnie’s hand makes up, for the moment, for their separation via concrete.

Later, when it’s time for exercise in the prison yard outside, and the walls of energy keeping them in their cells power down, Donnie tries and mostly fails to keep himself from walking too quickly to meet his cell neighbor coming around the corner. Without any need, it will turn out, because Casey just about beats him rushing out of his cell and yanks Donnie into a rough and much needed hug. And at the contact of that desperate hug, some of the gaping emptiness in Donnie’s chest will fill again; a piece of his life slotting back in place and giving him reason to keep going.

For now, here in their cells a few hours longer, Donnie contents himself with just holding onto Casey’s hand and mocks the shorn hair his friend has. Suddenly overwhelmed with positive emotions, and pretending that neither of them are a little wet around the eyes as Casey makes fun of his swelling socket.

Whatever the future holds, for the two of them, for the family Donnie has no claim to but all the fierce protectiveness of possible, for the maximum-security prison that in no way will hold them longer than a few days…

To Donnie, even with a bloodshot and swelled eye, their futures seem all so very bright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> did you guys really think i'd kill my puck boy? fools, i could never do that to him or donnie.
> 
> anyway, that's the last chapter of this fic. big thanks to everyone who read and commented along the way, and MAJOR thanks to the original anon who prompted me on tumblr. idk about you bud but i never expected this thing to spiral into such a complex AU. was a great ride tho, and i'm really happy to have been able to share it with you all. (@ anon, hmu some time so i can give you a personal thank you for this prompt, it was all my favorite tasty tropes in one.)
> 
> subscribe to the series of this AU, since.... yeah i totally still have a sequel in the tank. hopefully it'll appear sometime timely, but i got a lotta other stuff on the go at the moment. obvs, if you subscribe, you'll know when i get back to this fun lil AU.
> 
> thanks for reading, have a lovely day. <3

**Author's Note:**

> leave a comment expressing your emotional fall out, lmao.


End file.
